


Here We Stand

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:33:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 63,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Branda Stark, Edwyle Stark's sister weds Jeor Mormont, their son Barthogan Mormont will have a destiny that will change the course of the north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Lady Branda Stark**

After sixteen years of marriage, her husband Jon Royce, brother to Lord Arthor Royce of Runestone was dead. Slain fighting the mountain clans alongside his liege lord, Lord Jon Arryn. Her husband had been a good, kind man, strong, smart and charming, she had loved him fiercely and he had loved her fiercely as well. How could she not when he did all he could to make sure that she was safe and felt secure in the Vale, away from her home and her brother and all that she had ever known. Her uncle Artos Stark had arranged the match between herself and Jon when she had been twelve, telling her brother Edwyle that the north had been isolated for far too long and that it needed to expand its reach in order to maintain better relations with those south of the neck, and as such wedding her to his wife’s nephew Jon would be no big deal.

As it turned out though she had had her doubts about the marriage at first, and what fourteen year old girl wouldn’t, the marriage had been a good one, a loving and caring one. The marriage had produced three daughters, Sylvia, Desmera and Melantha. Her eldest daughter Sylvia had been born nine moons after her and Jon’s wedding night, a fierce spitfire of a girl her Sylvia was, she was a natural born heartbreaker she had wed Ser Desmond Corbray a good man someone who would be kind to her, her second daughter Desmera was the perfect lady, someone who knew her courtesies and knew how to use them to her advantage. Desmera had managed to charm Ser Malcolm Waynwood the heir to Ironoaks into marriage and for that Branda knew her daughter would always be happy Ser Malcolm was a fierce man, a bit of a rogue but he seemed dedicated to her daughter and that was all that mattered to Branda. As for her youngest daughter, Melantha was  but nine years old and as such Branda had deemed her too young to leave behind Sylvia was fifteen and Desmera fourteen both flowered and knowing what to expect they did not need their mother as much as Melantha did and so when word had come from Winterfell that she should come back home she had decided to take Melantha with her.

Whilst she did feel some guilt at leaving behind her two eldest daughters she knew that they would do well without her there, they were smart and able to defend themselves and win people over to their cause. Melantha on the other hand still needed her mother’s guidance and aid, and so she was coming to Winterfell with her. Winterfell, gods she had not seen her home since she had been Desmera’s age, she had not seen it in so long she had almost forgotten what it looked like and what it smelled like. But she could never really forget it, no, one could never forget what one’s home looked like even if one were to leave for many years and come back many years later. That was what it had been like for Branda, Winterfell was still the same imposing structure it had been in her youth, standing tall and proud through all the changes that had come and gone.

Her brother Edwyle was now Lord of Winterfell, he had been Lord of Winterfell since their father’s death some twenty two years ago at the hand of Raymun Redbeard, their uncle Artos had ruled in Edwyle’s stead until her brother had turned sixteen, and Branda knew her brother had looked up to and had admired their uncle fiercely. Branda had always lived in fear of their uncle, he was not known as the implacable for no reason after all, but the years and hindsight had given her some new perspective on the whole matter. Her brother was a good man, and a very good lord from what she had seen of her time in Winterfell, he ruled well and was if not loved by his people, then respected. He listened to all that came before him and judged their cases with what he believed to be the right and honourable thing to do. And he was a firm believer in the old gods, something that had won Branda’s approval almost immediately.

Her brother had married Marna Locke, a sweet lady who knew her way around Winterfell better than Branda’s own mother ever had, the people of Winterfell clearly loved their lady, and Edwyle seemed very happy with her. Marna had done her best to make sure that Branda felt as home as possible at Winterfell and she had done her best to also make sure that Melantha did as well and for that Branda would always be grateful. As for Edwyle’s son Rickard, well the lad reminded Branda of Edwyle a lot, in his solemn demeanour and how he rarely if ever smiled but when he did the whole place seemed to light up, Branda had spoke to her brother about whether or not Edwyle had found someone for Rickard to marry, and her brother had replied that he had thought about wedding Rickard to their uncle Rodrik’s daughter Lyarra, it would help please their uncle who was away north dealing with some matter or the other and would also keep the two very distinct lines close together to prevent any possible succession dispute should something happen to Rickard.

Her brother to his credit had waited for some three moons before broaching the topic of her getting married once more. He had at first said that she did not need to if she did not want to, after all she was a woman grown who had had children already and Branda knew her brother feared losing her to the birthing bed more than he feared what his bannermen would do should she not marry again. However, Brand knew that she would rather get married once more than have to remain at Winterfell and become a burden to her brother and nephew, and so she had consented to her brother finding her another match. That had just encouraged the vultures to come circling, men like Roose Bolton, Lord Jorah Umber, Wyman Manderly and Cregan Karstark had all begun making advances toward her, and though she liked and admired Jorah and Cregan Karstark she did not really trust them not to make moves on her brother’s home once he was gone, she did not trust Roose Bolton or Wyman Manderly as far as she could throw them, and that was something her brother also felt. IN the end they had agreed on her marrying Jeor Mormont, the Lord of Bear Island. Jeor already had a son by a previous marriage a boy named Jorah who was some three years old, the man was a good man, true and brave, and loyal that was the most important factor. And being the dutiful vassal that he was he had agreed to wed Branda and so here they were in Winterfell’s godswood.

Her husband did look somewhat dashing in his dark green tunic and cloak, and as her brother led her towards the heart tree she felt her breath leave her somewhat. “Who comes?” her husband to be asked.

“Lady Branda of the House Stark. Who claims her?” her brother replied.

“Lord Jeor of the House Mormont.” Her husband to be replied.

Her brother walked her to the heart tree and then walked forward and stood in front of them and spoke in that iron tone of his. “We are gathered here today lords and ladies, to witness the binding of heart and soul of two people. Lord Jeor Mormont, Lord of Bear Island and a true lord of the north and Lady Branda Stark, a strong and proud lady and a dedicated mother. If there is anyone here who believes that this wedding should not happen let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.” When none spoke her brother went on. “Now, in the sight of the old gods, I do here ask. Do you both promise to remain faithful and true to one another?”

“We do.” Branda and Jeor said in unison.

“Do you promise to always be each other’s strength and counsel in matters of the mind and heart?” her brother asked.

“We do.” Branda and Jeor replied.

“Then as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and as the purveyor of the Old Gods I do hereby name you husband and wife. You may now seal your marriage with a kiss.” Her brother said.

The kiss was short, soft and chaste but to Branda it was a relief now they were married and they would soon be venturing toward Bear Island. The feast itself was something to behold, her brother was not often one for extravagance but it seemed that when it came to her, he was, there were so many courses that Branda found herself begging off the food for sometime following the fifth or was it the sixth course? She spoke often with her husband and her brother, and danced most often with her husband, she found Jeor to be an interesting fellow with a lot to say and a lot of things he wished to discuss. One such thing was her daughter Melantha. “My sister Maege is roughly the same age as your daughter my lady,” he said in that gruff voice of his. “I am sure the two of them will get along well once we return back to Bear Island. I have already made sure that certain things are put in place to ensure that you are more comfortable.”

“Thank you my lord,” Branda said. “You need not have gone to all the extra strain but I thank you anyway.”

There was not much chance for talking after that for shortly after the final course was served and eaten, there were calls for the bedding. Two days after the wedding festivities had come to an end, Branda, her daughter Melantha and her husband and his family made the journey back to Bear Island. The place was not as bleak and dull as Branda had been led to expect from the books she had read and from what the maester at Winterfell had told her. True there was not much of the imposing stature of Winterfell, but there was a certain earthly beauty about it, with the trees creating a sort of peaceful atmosphere. The people were strong and fierce as a result of having to deal with wildlings and raiders, but were nice people who were always willing to give her hand with doing certain things. Her goodsister Maege took to Melantha almost immediately as her daughter did to Maege. Her husband did what he could to help her settle into life at Bear Island, and when Branda began taking lessons in how to defend herself, she sensed his approval. The smile on his face when she told him she was with child some two moons after their marriage was one that she would always remember and cherish.

About nine moons after their wedding day, on the fourth day of the second moon of the 259th year after Aegon’s Landing, her son Barthogan Mormont was born with a full head of dark brown hair and with grey eyes and the traditional long face of the Starks. He was a big baby, bigger than any of her girls had been but she was happy and she knew instantly that she would always love her son the best out of all her children. Her husband seemed more than happy with having a second son, and her goodsister Maege and her own daughter Melantha soon began taking to playing nurse and house with her son, she truly felt at home at Bear Island. Life was good, but there would be trouble brewing soon enough. A black dragon was soon to take advantage of the tragedy that befell the Targaryens some seven moons after her son’s birth and her husband would be called away to war.

 

 

 


	2. Winter Is Coming

**Lord Edwyle Stark**

Edwyle Stark had been Lord of Winterfell since his father Willam Stark died fighting Raymun Redbeard and his band of wildlings some forty four years ago, Edwyle had been three years old then. He could not really remember his father; all he had were blurry images of a big giant of man, tickling him till he laughed aloud. His uncle Artos and his mother Melantha were the ones who raised him, his mother was a caring person, sweet and gentle, it was to her that Edwyle and his sister Branda went when they had gotten hurt or were upset. Their uncle Artos was as stern as his name the implacable suggested, it was from him that Edwyle learnt how to rule with an iron fist, how to swing his first sword, how to do any countless number of things. Edwyle did all he could do to ensure that he lived up to his uncle’s lessons and that he did everything he could to earn his uncle’s pride and admiration. Looking back on his life now, Edwyle was certain that he had done just that, in fact his uncle had said as much before he had died all those many years ago, but Edwyle had wanted to make certain that he never failed to live up to the code that his uncle had taught him.

As for his own family, Edwyle had wed the woman his uncle had asked him to marry, Marna Locke of Oldcastle a sweet lady who was good with running the household of Winterfell, but if Edwyle was being honest with himself he did not love her, not in the way his uncle had loved his own wife, this was a marriage of duty nothing else. Their marriage had produced one son, Rickard who had been born whilst Edwyle had been away at war fighting the damned Blackfyres for King Aegon. Rickard reminded Edwyle a fair bit of himself as a young man grim and solemn with a dedication to duty and honour that Edwyle’s own uncle would have been proud of. Edwyle had done his duty in teaching his son how to rule the north, he had taught him all he knew about the different lords of the north and how to get the best out of each one of them, the Umbers required flattery and strength, Wyman Manderly the great puff fish required praise that was all he needed to flatter his southern sensibilities, Roose Bolton was a snake that Edwyle had warned his son about and as such had told him to keep a careful eye on him, Jeor Mormont was the one man that Edwyle knew he could trust above all else and had told his son the same. Rickard had wed Lyarra, his uncle Rodrik’s daughter, a match Edwyle had made to ensure that none else could get into the Stark claim, in fact Branda, his gooddaughter’s sister had been wed to his cousin Brandon though they had both died without issue. Rickard and Lyarra seemed to truly love one another and they had many children, Brandon who was wild and carefree, Eddard who seemed serious and solemn, Lyanna wild and carefree as her elder brother and Benjen who was too young for Edwyle to truly know much about.

As for his sister Branda, Edwyle had made sure to keep an eye on her and just as he had suspected, Jeor had treated her like the princess that she truly was. His friend had gone out of his way to make sure that Branda felt at home at Bear Island, and his sister in her ever adaptable fashion had made sure to get used to life at Bear Island by taking up their customs and their ways of live. According to what he learnt from his sources on the island, the people of Bear Island loved Branda as did the Mormonts a fiercely proud people they were. Branda’s son Barthogan, had grown into a big lad, towering over his mother and nearly as tall as his father and half brother Jorah, the lad was eleven and was already showing just how much of a Mormont he was, he was strong and good with a sword as well as being very silent and observant, just like his father. Edwyle was happy that he had been correct in matching his friend to his sister, a good northern match that had kept the vultures like Roose Bolton from circling.

As had so often happened as of late, Edwyle found his thoughts turning towards the peace that had finally reached Westeros with the death of the last Blackfyre Pretender Maelys the two headed monster. The Blackfyres had been causing havoc in Westeros for sixty years before Maelys had finally been slain by Ser Barristan Selmy on the banks of the Stepstones, Edwyle had fought in two previous Blackfyre wars, one as a squire for his uncle which saw the death of Daemon III Blackfyre, and another that saw Edwyle be the one to slay Daemon IV Blackfyre. This Blackfyre war unlike other ones did not even reach the shores of Westeros, Maelys had been over confident and as such had seen his strength broken largely before Edwyle and the northmen had arrived. Edwyle had command of the left flank of the royal army and so they had set sail from Westeros as part of the last batch, Edwyle and his 10,000 northmen had arrived after Maelys had been slain but as the golden company continued fighting before news of the man’s death became evident. Many had won themselves a fair share of glory in that fight, Rickard had done, and apparently his son had become quite good friends with Hoster Tully and the king’s cousin Steffon Baratheon. Edwyle had warned his son to be careful about corresponding with the southerners, though whether or not his son actually would listen to him was something he was not sure about.

Edwyle knew that he was dying, this winter had been particularly harsh towards him, though he was not a completely old man, he was still forty seven and he was still weak from a wound he had taken whilst dealing with a bunch of raiders on the Stony Shore. His sight was beginning to leave him and still he had made sure to oversee the running of the north, he had dealt with a dispute between Lord Hornwood and Lord Bolton over a plot of land that had been suitably dealt with and had left both parties happy, he had made sure that his people were well provisioned for winter and he had made sure that his son knew what to expect from his lords once his time came. But now he wanted to rest, yet he still had his goodbyes to say and that was why he had called his son, his grandchildren and his sister and her son and husband into the room so he could say goodbye. “Rickard,” he called out and his son came forward solemn as always. “I am proud of you my son, you are everything a man could ask for in a son, proud and strong and a good father, always remember to heed the advice of your wife and those who know what they speak of. And remember to tread warily with the south, they are vipers down there.”

“I will remember your advice I promise you. And I will strive to make sure that the peace you have built remains.” His son said. He brought his children up to say goodbye to their grandfather which they did though Edwyle knew that none but the eldest Brandon knew what was truly happening.

Next Edwyle spoke to his wife Marna. “Marna, my lady. I know we did not have the loving relationship that they write about in the songs you so loved, and for that I am truly sorry.” His wife went to speak but Edwyle held up a finger and she stopped. “But know that I have always enjoyed our conversations about live and I have learnt much from you, and I hope you did not find me too dour and serious. I do care a great deal about you my lady. And when I am gone I wish you nothing but the best of life and the most happiness you can find.”

“I know my lord. And I feel the same for you my lord. I have always treasured our exchanges and know that you have always been a valued companion for me, throughout our years of marriage.” Marna replied.

Next Edwyle spoke to his friend Jeor. His friend was a gruff man, who was as large as a bear, and as strong as one as well. They had shared many things together over the years, but Edwyle knew that his friend would do all he could to ensure that Winterfell and the north continued on its course under Rickard. Still the words he wished to say came out harder than he would have liked. “Jeor, my old friend. This is it eh, the final one, the final journey that we used to talk about those many years ago, during cold nights eh. I let you know what it’s like one way or another old friend.”

 His friend’s voice was gruff when he replied. “You’ll make it through this my friend. I don’t want to hear any of this dark talk from you my lord. You were the one who guided us through the dark times, and you will do so once more. You are an old hag who needs to keep living for a few more years. It has been an honour to be your friend and an honour to serve under you in any way I could.”

Edwyle laughs then and says. “Ah old friend, I wish I could stay but there are times for things, and my time here is done. But no, thank you for being a good friend. And taking care of my sister when the need arose. I know you will be a good lord for many years to come and will do your utmost to support my son in his adventures as Lord of Winterfell.” His friend nods his head and then Edwyle says in a very soft voice. “Now where is Branda?”

His sister walks forward then and takes his hand, the room is becoming darker but Edwyle is determined to hold on for just a little bit longer, his sister must know what is to come, so that she can prepare for it and prepare Barth for it to the best of her abilities. “I’m here brother.” His sister says softly. “What did you wish to speak with me about on this fine afternoon?” she asks jokingly.

Edwyle looks at her through squinted eyes, the world is going black but he is determined that his sister know what is to come. “I have always loved you Branda, you were always the best of me and our family. You have shown just how adaptable and determined you could be, you have made the most of many difficult situations and now soon enough you will need to do so again.”

“I do not understand brother?” Branda whispers softly.

Edwyle leans forward and whispers in his sister’s ear. “I have seen the future Branda. You know I have the sight and that I have seen many things that have since come to pass. The War of the Ninepenny Kings, the Tragedy of Summerhall both of those came to pass. Soon enough there will be trouble here in the north, Our grandfather had too many children for there not to be children. You must make sure that Rickard knows what to expect from Errold and Donnor, otherwise the north will be unprepared for the danger that is to come. Barth must also learn more about what is expected of him. Do it in stages Branda, do not rush into it but make sure that he is ready for it when the time comes.”

“Are you sure that it will still come to pass? Perhaps you misinterpreted the dream brother, after all you have done so before.” Branda asks.

“I am sure that I have not as sure as I was about Summerhall and the Ninepenny kings. This must be done Branda, promise me you will do it.” Edwyle asks.

“I will brother, I promise you I will.” Branda replies.

Edwyle nods and then closes his eyes for good. Edwyle Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North dies from a winter fever at the age of forty nine on the thirtieth day of the seventh month of the 270th year after Aegon’s Landing. Trouble is around the corner.


	3. Where Do We Go Now?

****

**Lord Rickard Stark**

He had been Lord of Winterfell for seven years now, and still there were challenges not of actually ruling but of living up the expectations and things his father had done and the groundwork he had lain down. His father had been a great man, all could agree on that, his father had brought the north back from the uncertainty of the five she wolves and of Rickard’s own grandfather’s Lord Willam’s death, and had made sure that none thought to challenge Winterfell again. Rickard had grown up admiring his father, and a part of him had even lived in some fear of his father after all, Edwyle Stark was a man slow to anger but once angered he was something to behold. Plus there was the fact that he was an imposing man, not in terms of physical build but more in what he stood for and what he represented, the north seemed to glow from Rickard’s father, and that was something that any man would be intimidated by.

Rickard had been tested by his bannermen, Lords Umber, Dustin, Ryswell and Bolton all of them at one stage or the other had done things that would have drive Rickard mad many moons ago when he had been young and desperate to prove himself, but with age had come patience, and he had seen the tests for what they were and he had acted as he normally would under normal circumstances and he liked to think he had won their approval and their support. He knew for a fact that he could count on the support of Last Hearth and Barrowtown for anything that he would think to do, but of the Dreadfort he had listened to his father’s last words and always made sure that Roose Bolton knew that should he step out of line he would pay a heavy price.

It helped he supposed that he had such strong support from Lord Jeor Mormont and his aunt Branda, Bear Island might not be the most militarily imposing of Winterfell’s bannermen, but the fact that Jeor Mormont had been Lord Edwyle’s best friend gave added weight to whatever words the Lord of Bear Island said, and it also meant that he was feared by those on the mainland. Rickard truly did love his aunt Branda as well, she was a fierce lady, one you would not want to cross, and she knew how to use her words to get what she wanted. Often she and her husband were Rickard’s vanguard in the matters that he discussed at court, and with their support he was able to get much more done in the north than even his father had been able to do. A town had been built at the Stony Shore , a small one to be sure but still something was there that could be used as defence against the Ironborn raiders that still sometimes ventured too far north.

As for his cousin Barthogan, well Rickard thought the lad a good man, his cousin had shown himself to be a very talented swordsman, having fought off and killed several dozen Ironborn raiders since turning twelve. He also seemed to be quite smart for the times when he came visiting with his mother and father, Rickard had often dropped by his son’s lessons to see Barth speaking at great length on a great many subjects. In short Rickard did truly think that his cousin would make a great lord one day, and it was a shame that his father had not thought to wed aunt Branda to Jeor sooner, for Jeor’s oldest son Jorah seemed to be nothing more than a muttonhead, someone who Rickard would need to keep a close eye on in the future. As to his aunt’s daughter from her previous marriage, Melantha, his cousin was a fierce woman, tall and lithe and proud, she had wed some Valelord, under her mother’s insistence, though who the man was Rickard could never remember, all he knew was that he felt slightly uncomfortable with the number of female claims that there was now hanging around in the Vale for Winterfell, something about it just felt off.

He supposed such feelings came from the fact that he himself had wed his own cousin Lyarra, his wife was a good lady and he loved her dearly, though she did have a fierce temper. They often got into arguments about the littlest of things but would often make up in the most passionate of ways. Her fierceness could be seen in their eldest son Brandon, Brandon was wild and wilful and often got into a lot of trouble something that Rickard despaired of, sometimes, though he did have to admit his heir was a good lad and would make a fine lord one day. His betrothal to Catelyn Tully seemed to have put a stop to his more extravagant activities and seemingly had made him more aware of his duty to his family, that was a good thing, despite the protests that both Rickard’s aunt and uncle had made, the match would strengthen their southern border. As for his second son Eddard, well Rickard had on the advice of his aunt sent Eddard out to foster in the Vale using the connections he had developed during the war of the Ninepenny kings to do so, ultimately he aimed to have Eddard marry one of their cousins from the Corbray, Waynwood or Templeton branches and then take over from there to make sure that the Valelords did not get any ideas. As for his youngest two children, Rickard did have to admit he had not spent all that much time thinking on their futures, Lyanna was still a little girl for all that she pranced about in tunics and breeches and played at swords, Benjen still a boy, and Rickard knew that he would have time enough to see to their futures.

For now though, there was the matter of the little rebellion that was happening in the northern part of the north, Rickard’s great uncle Donnor had alongside the Wulls, the Norreys and some of the other mountain clans and some minor houses sworn to the Glovers, had rebelled and had declared himself the true Lord of Winterfell. Such a declaration was met with much derision and slander amongst the rest of the north, and yet his uncle was a proven battle commander and had won two victories over hosts led by Edrick Glover and Jon Umber, at the battles of Wolfswood and the misty eye. Such defeats were stinging blows to the north’s security and Rickard had finally decided to call his banners to deal with the threat once and for all. Donnor Stark remained in the north, near the Gift and as such that was where Rickard had marched his men. Some 5,000 of them had come with him from Karhold, the Dreadfort, Hornwood, Bear Island and Barrowtown they had come and Rickard had taken his eldest son Brandon with him. This was a problem that needed to be dealt with straight away. The question was how to do so. Hence a war council had been called. “Now my lords, we know what has happened to Lords Glover and Umber. The question is how do we deal with Donnor before he becomes to serious a threat?” Rickard asked.

Lord Rickard Karstark spoke first. “I believe we should head to where his camp is, and take it from there. A surprise attack would be best, the man would have grown cocky and over confident after defeating Glover and Umber. We must act fast and soon.”

A traditional response from a young man untested in battle, Lord Roose Bolton a man who seemingly did not age said. “That would be what Donnor wants us to do. Rush headlong into his camp and we shall find several traps waiting for us, and we shall be butchered. This is the terrain where the mountain clans excel at fighting. We must not play in their strengths, we must make them play into ours. We must tempt them out to fight.”

“And how are we to do that without first attacking them my lord?” Lord Willam Dustin asked, yet another lord who was green behind the ears. “We must lure them out you say, the only way we can do that is if we attack them first. The mountain clans are too cautious when it comes to true battle to be lured out simply because of a few poles of cloth. We must attack them first. Send out a small force I say and attack their tents and we shall rile them enough that they will come harrying out to fight us.”

Rickard looks towards his uncle by marriage. “Lord Mormont what say you? Shall we do as Lord Bolton says and wait or shall we attack first with a probing force?”

His uncle by marriage has more experience dealing with the mountain clans and those who get too greedy who come raiding down by Bear Island, and has dealt with Donnor before and so he takes his time before he replies. “I believe we should send out a force of 300 men no more, no less to go raiding amongst the mountain clans tents. They are a naturally divisive people and as such if we can cause them to divide any further we shall have the advantage for when they try and attack us in force.”

Rickard nods and then says aloud. “Very well then, Lord Dustin seeing as you were the one to propose sending the probing attack you shall have command over 300 men to lead a raiding party into the mountain clans campsite, kill those you come across and if you happen to find mine uncle amongst them capture him. Lord Mormont you shall have the left, Lord Ryswell the van, I shall take the right.”

With that they all leave the tent and begin making their own preparations, and soon enough Rickard is dressed in his blue armour, Ice in hand, mounted on his red stallion waiting for the sighting of the clans to come roaring down the gorge. Soon enough, he hears a horn being blown and he raises Ice high into the air and the battle begins. Brandon is to his right, and Martyn Cassel to his left, Rickard cleaves his way through the throngs of mountain warriors who come charging down the hill at him. Swinging Ice left, and right, left and right on and it goes, swinging and swinging, hacking, ducking, dodging, cutting, hacking, swinging and swinging. His sword is stained red with the blood of many foes, but still the mountain clans keep on coming, he remembers something his father once told him, “the mountain clans are good fighters but they lack discipline they never know when to stop.” And this is the case now, even though their men are being cut to shreds by the more organised northmen under Rickard’s command they are still charging, swinging their weapons like mad men. Rickard feels bad for the fact that he has to keep on swinging his sword, over and over, over and over.

The fighting wears on, swinging his sword left, right and centre, on and on it goes, Rickard keeps swinging his sword ending the lives of men and women. Those who come into his path are felled by Ice, the greatsword glistening in the sunshine, bathed in red, the blood of the enemy. On it goes, swinging, hacking, slashing, swinging, hacking, cutting, swinging, hacking, cutting, ducking and dodging. The fighting keeps going for what seems like days but is in actual fact only hours, it eventually stops when Lord Marston Norrey who had command of the right of the mountain clan host throws down his spear and shouts loudly. “Oh bugger this, why are we fighting?” And soon enough all his men are doing the same. Bodies lie strewn across the ground, the fields are caked in blood, and Rickard knows the death tally will be high on both sides. Eventually Rickard meets with Marston Norrey, a big giant of a man who bows before him and says most humbly. “My apologies my lord of Winterfell. If you are to take my head, do it now so that I do not have to look at that scum Donnor.”

Rickard looks at the man and says. “Bring me Donnor Stark and his sons and then we shall speak Norrey.” As it turns out, Rickard’s cousin Barth killed two of Donnor’s sons as well as two of his nephews and some more men, proving himself to be a more than skilled swordsman. Donnor Stark, Rickard’s great uncle looks like a tired old man when he is brought before him, battered and broken, covered in blood and dirt. Richard’s eyes go cold when he sees the man and he says. “You broke the peace nuncle. For what? Something that was never yours to begin with? You have brought dishonour to yourself, and to your father and to mine own father’s memory. And for that you shall die, do you have any last words?”

The man looks at him and spits out. “You will bring the north to ruin with your southern meddling. Mark my words, the north will burn because of your hunger for power.” Rickard draws Ice then and cleaves his great uncle’s neck from his shoulders. Donnor Stark dies on the first day of the third moon of the 277th year after Aegon’s Landing and with him dies his rebellion.


	4. Big Bear

**Barthogan Mormont**

Growing up in two different places had given Barth a unique outlook on life. On Bear Island he had learnt how to appreciate the basic things in life, such as having a roof over his head, enough food to eat for the day, and the ability to defend himself. At Winterfell, he had learnt the wonders of knowledge and history; he had immersed himself in the books and scrolls that were available in Winterfell’s library learning that entire he could about Westeros and the different people who inhabited it. His hunger for knowledge had led to some very interesting discussions with both Maester Walys and Maester Broden, about various things such as the Age of Heroes and the Targaryen rule. Both his parents and his half siblings Jorah and Melantha had joked that perhaps he should consider becoming a maester, and that was something he had seriously considered doing, but of course Barth knew that Jorah’s wife Erena was not the most fertile of ladies, and that there was a chance that he might need to have children of his own, and so he had stayed away from the citadel and had ensured that he had maintained his studies in martial fighting.

As it was Barth had wed Lyarra Umber the elder sister of the Greatjon Umber the Lord of Last Hearth, they had been wed for five years now, having wed about four moons before Donnor Stark’s rebellion. Barth was very fond of his wife and they were very close to one another, Lyarra having grown up in Last Hearth was a fierce and feisty woman, who was not afraid to voice her opinion. On many occasion Barth and his wife had gotten into heated arguments about small things for it to only end with them tangled in a fierce embrace in the sheets. That was how their firstborn son Brandon have been conceived, Brandon had come squalling into the world some six moons after Donnor Stark’s rebellion had been crushed and as such had come out with Barth’s dark brown hair, his mother’s sharp face and with dark brown eyes. A big lad, like Barth had been, his son was not afraid to voice his opinions especially once he had been able to begin speaking. Bath and Lyarra had since had another son named Jeor after his father who was more quiet and reserved than his older brother, though could be just as loud when he wanted to be.

Being a father was a highly rewarding experience for Barth, watching his sons grow up was one of the proudest moments of his relatively young life, it was a marvel to him each and every day that he and his wife had created these two lives that were now growing bigger and bigger every day. Sometimes he wondered where the time had gone where he himself had been a youngster; it was something that his wife often teased him of, of being taciturn and stern, something his best friend Brandon often teased him of as well. But it was true, there were times where Barth often wondered why time went by so quickly and he often spent time reading through scrolls wondering if he could find out some sort of explanation for it, as of yet he had found nothing.

As he had grown older, he had found that his parents had included him more and more in their discussions with each other about the north and what his cousin Rickard Stark the current lord of Winterfell was doing. Whilst both his mother and father were very supportive of his cousin in public standing by each and every decision he made, in private there had often been some heated arguments that Barth had heard especially between his father and his cousin. He knew that his father did not like that his cousin was trying to build relationships with the south especially the upcoming wedding between Barth’s best friend and the heir to Winterfell Brandon to Catelyn Tully, he knew that his father feared that the southerners would have too much influence over the north through that marriage and that it was better to have a full blooded northern lord of Winterfell than to have a southerner who would be like to be influenced by a highly powerful southern family. Barth knew his cousin had argued that with how unstable the king was rumoured to have become they needed to have defences in the south so as to prevent any attacks that might come. As to his cousin Lyanna’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon that was something Barth could not understand, true the man was cousin to the king but he was also a slob and a drunk, someone who both Barth and Brandon did not approve of, and Barth knew for a fact that Lya did not like the man either.

Barth knew that his cousin was a strong willed girl who did not appreciate being viewed as some sort of delicate southern flower that was what she had told him on one of the many journeys he had made to Winterfell. She and Brandon had asked him to come with them to Harrenhal for what was said to be the biggest tourney the realm had ever seen and so he had agreed to go, it would be interesting he had thought, and would be fun to compete against the best that Westeros had to offer in the Melee. He had competed in the melee and won it with relative ease, beating all those who came before him, drawing some murmurs from the crowd, that a lowly bear from the north could beat all these fancy pants knights from the south. The tourney was big and extravagant alright and Barth found that he did not particularly like it, Brandon and Lyanna loved it, revelling in all there was to offer, and when that muppet Prince Rhaegar had come onto sing for the opening feast Lya had cried tears of joy or sadness he could not tell.

And then the jousting had happened, and Rhaegar Targaryen had brought scandal to the north, by going over his own wife Princess Elia she who had borne him two children to crown Lya Queen of Love and Beauty. That had started a whole rumour mill about Lyanna and the Prince, all of which greatly upset Lya, and greatly angered Brandon and Barth both. The Prince had done nothing since then but there were things that had happened since that had made Barth wonder whether the prince truly was all he was made out to be. Of course that was not all he had to worry about, King Aerys had heard or rather seen Barth’s strength and skill in the melee, and apparently had heard rumours that Barth could best Ser Arthur Dayne the famed Sword of the Morning, and so the king had ordered them to duel before the final feast and as such Barth was preparing himself for the duel, when he heard Brandon say something that took him from his thoughts. “Hmm, sorry what did you say Brandon?” Barth asked.

“I was just saying how good Ashara Dayne was in bed last night Barth, that is all. Nothing major or anything, I mean it was not as if I had bedded one of the most beautiful women in the seven kingdoms.” Brandon joked.

Barth sighed then, as he put on his final gauntlet. “You should not joke about such things Brandon. You are betrothed to Catelyn Tully and will be marrying her within the year’s turn. Besides I thought Eddard liked her? The way he was making moon eyes at her throughout all of the feast the night before.”

His friend laughs then and says. “Oh you would think so, but when I asked Ned about her all he did was stammer and laugh. I mean who am I to deny a fair lady my pleasure, when she asks for it. I mean it is not as if she was a maiden either. But what you say is true Barth, I will not dally beyond my betrothed following this tourney. I wonder though, where did Lya and Benjen go last night following the feast. I could have sworn I saw them leave off early, though for what purpose I could not say.”

“Perhaps they went to see the Isle of Faces?” Barth asks. “After all did not Howland say that he was returning there following the jousting? They might have gone to visit him.”

“Hmm,” Brandon says contemplatively. “Anyway, I am sure they did not do anything too stupid especially with the King still looking for that damnable knight of the laughing tree, and with all the heightened attention surrounding you now with this duel. Say how are you feeling about this duel Barth? After all we all know what is said about Ser Arthur, the deadliest of King Aerys seven.”

“Thank you for reminding me of whom I am facing Brandon, it was not as if I had forgotten at all.” Barth deadpans. “Regardless, I am not sure, there are some nerves, but that is to be expected. Considering the repute of the man I am about to face. At least it is a fight till one of us loses their sword and not till the death, otherwise I think that perhaps Ser Arthur would hold the edge.”

Brandon laughs then and says. “Ach you will be fine Barth. I’ve never seen a better swordsman then you. And you beat all of those southern meatheads during the melee including Lya’s betrothed who was boasting of what he would do during the melee.”

Barth looks at his friend and cousin then and says. “Aye well, let us see just how good the sword of the morning is.” With that he gets up and grabs his sword from the side, a big two handed greatsword that he can wield with one hand, Barth is dressed in green armour, the bear of his house proudly displayed on his armour. He walks with Brandon to the grounds where the duel will take place with Brandon giving him his helm before he leaves for the stands. Ser Arthur Dayne is dressed in the white armour of the Kingsguard, Dawn glistening in the morning light, they bow before each other and the king, and then they both put their helms on.

The king stands up, his hair billowing in the breeze, his nails long and his gaze piercing. “We are here today to witness a duel between two swordsmen, both of whom have proven their skill and their prowess through various means during the past few years. Ser Arthur Dayne, the sword of the morning and the finest knight of my Kingsguard, and Barthogan Mormont son of Lord Jeor Mormont and Lady Branda Mormont of Bear Island. The two of you will fight till one of you loses your sword, and the winner will win the praise of our royal person. Begin.”

They both bow before the king, and then both draw their swords, circling one another, the crowd are silent; a deathly hush covers the ground. Both men are trying to tempt the other into making the first move, but neither of them are willing to and so they circle one another, until Barth spots an opening and swings his sword at the sword of the morning. The man just manages to move away at the last second before swinging his own sword at Barth, Barth brings his sword up to block the blow and so the dance begins. Arthur makes the next swing, a fierce slash that Barth just manages to block, though the impact of their two swords crashing against one another causes his arm to judder. They pull away and then Barth swings, and then swings again, and then swings again, pummelling at Arthur’s defences trying to break into a weakness. Arthur holds firm for a long time though the crowd can see that his strength is flagging.

Barth pulls away after slashing and swinging with some great power, the two of them resume circling and then Arthur steps forward and with some quick footwork is swinging as fast he can pummelling at Barth’s sword, swinging and swinging, sparks flying, the crowd becomes excited now. A misstep from Arthur gives Barth the opening he needs to launch a counterattack, he begins fiercely swinging and slashing at Arthur connecting once or twice with the man’s armour, denting it and drawing blood. Arthur blocks the blow mean to knock his sword, and it is a credit to his strength that his sword does not fall from his hands, he pulls their swords down and then brings his sword up to attack Barth, striking the big bear’s armour and denting it slightly.

The crowd is getting more and more excited, the murmurs are growing louder, and yet the two fighters cannot hear anything except the sound of their own heartbeats and their breathe. The circle each other and then are back into the dance, swinging their swords at one another, pummelling one another, swinging, and swinging, slashing, slashing, cutting at each other, sparks are flying, and still both men keep going. On and on, the dance moves on and on and on it goes, until Arthur swings his sword and Barth nearly loses the grip in his, but manages to hold on through sheer will. He brings his sword up and begins pummelling at Arthur’s defences, and with a swing, a slash and a parry, he manages to beat the Sword of the Morning only just.

There is complete silence for a moment as all in attendance are shocked at seeing the sword of the morning beaten, and then there is a loud cheer and then suddenly all the northmen in attendance are cheering as is the rest of the crowd. Barth walks up to Ser Arthur and shakes his hand, his voice echoing in his helm as he says. “Good fight Ser Arthur, it was an honour.” The knight says the same and then the crowd goes silent as the king stands up.

His voice high and wheezy, Aerys Targaryen looks at Barth before he says. “Remove your helm boy,” Barth complies, and the king stares at him and says. “The Winner is Barthogan Mormont.”

Barthogan Mormont a name the south will come to remember in the years to come, the big bear. 


	5. Sword of the Morning

**Ser Arthur Dayne**

Harrenhal, years from now Arthur will trace all the chaos and horror that happens in the next few years back to Harrenhal and he will sigh and wish that he could have seen things differently and done things differently during that tourney. But as of now, in the present, the here and now all he can do is think back to the duel he had with Barth Mormont, someone he now knows as the Big Bear, Barth Mormont was a skilled fighter, very skilled, almost as good as Arthur and their duel, done on the king’s orders had been one that Arthur had greatly enjoyed. It had been fun fighting someone who was just as good if not better than him, for it gave him a way to truly test his abilities and see if he truly could stand up to the test of being the best. That Barth came from Bear Island was something that had surprised him, considering how isolated and desolate the place seemed to be, and yet it was something that had made the fight even better considering that Barth had had to work hard for his skills and talent just as Arthur had had to do.

After the duel, before all had returned to their homes, Arthur and Barth had struck up something of a friendship. Arthur found that he could speak of things with Barth that he could not speak of with someone like Rhaegar, they spoke of swords and weapon craft, and Arthur was amazed at just how knowledgeable his friend was on such matters, usually such big men and such skilled fighters were quite ignorant of the hard work and dedication that went into making their weapons. Not the Big Bear though, the man seemed like a veritable well of knowledge and for the last three days of the tourney, they had shared many a cask of wine, when Arthur had been off duty, speaking about swords and other weapons as well as the places that they both called home. For Arthur it had been a nice break from having to care for the Targaryens and having to deal with Rhaegar and his constant melancholy, the Prince was a good man and would make a good king, but sometimes his constant moping could grate on Arthur’s nerves, therefore meeting someone like Barth who though being stern and taciturn knew how to laugh as a blessing.

Of course as with all good things, their friendship had to come to an end when they both left for their homes, Arthur for King’s Landing, Barth for the north. They had said they would keep in touch, but they both knew such a thing would not happen. Arthur had returned to the monotony of King’s Landing, and though his sworn brothers were both surprised and weary about the fact that a bear could defeat him, Arthur paid no more mind to that. There were greater concerns for them to deal with as far as he was concerned. Aerys Targaryen, known in court as the mad king, was becoming increasingly paranoid, the man had had the past two master of laws, Lords Hayford and Rosby executed not by the traditional means but by burning alive, for crimes that Arthur and the whole court knew where bogus, and yet no one dared say anything, not the white bull that paragon of virtue, and not Rhaegar the silver prince whom the whole realm placed their hopes on. Aerys got away with murder and it was beginning to eat away at Arthur, so much so that there were times when he wanted to hand in his white cloak and return to Dorne, but what was there for him in Dorne? He had joined the Kingsguard to get away from the life that would wait for him back home. He would not, could not give up not now.

Before Harrenhal, Rhaegar had talked about calling a council of all the great lords to discuss removing his father from power. The prince had lived in denial for many years as to what his father was, or was becoming, but something had finally made him realise that Aerys was a threat to peace and stability in the realm that needed to be removed. And so Arthur had helped his friend make overtures to the various great lords and their most important bannermen to come to a council that would convene at Harrenhal, but somehow, most likely through the Spider, Aerys had gotten wind of what they were planning and had thwarted it, and instead of a council to remove Aerys, the lords present had come to witness Tywin Lannister’s heir Jaime Lannister a promising knight be raised to the Kingsguard. Jaime was a good lad, a fine swordsman, as good if not better than Ser Barristan the Bold, but nowhere near as good as Arthur though with enough practice he could be. The lad seemingly had become disillusioned with knighthood and what it stood for, and Arthur knew just how his charge felt, watching the man they were sworn to defend burn people alive and rape his wife was something that would turn most people cold.

Ever since the duel, the king had become increasingly obsessed with the north, believing that Rickard Stark was trying to remove him from power, the power block that the man had arranged, by having his eldest son and heir Brandon Stark betrothed to Catelyn Tully and his only daughter betrothed to the king’s own cousin Robert Baratheon, had not helped. And as such, it was not safe to be associated with the Starks if one were at court, which was why when Ashara had come to him some four days ago, to tell him she was pregnant he had dreaded asking the question. The memory still haunted him. _“Whilst I am not surprised that you are pregnant with how you throw yourself at men Ash, I must ask, who is the father?”_

_His sister had feigned shock and hurt but she had said. “It does not matter, for we can never be together, and anyway I knew that fact when I bedded him. It makes no matter for I shall raise this child by myself.”_

_“Who is the father Ashara?” Arthur asked his tone brooking no argument._

_His sister had looked small then and scared, and Arthur had felt his heart constrict then. “Brandon, Brandon Stark the heir to Winterfell. It was one night of passion after we had both had too much to drink that is all. It meant nothing to either of us, but I will raise this child and I will do it with or without your approval Art.”_

_Arthur had sighed then and said. “I don’t care that you are with child Ash. You must know that, you are my baby sister and I will always love you no matter what. But surely you must know that it is not safe to be associated with the Starks or the north at present. The king is seeing shadows wherever he looks now, and the biggest shadow of them all is not Rhaegar but rather Rickard Stark. If he or the spider finds out that Brandon Stark is the father of your child, both you and your child will be in danger and then there will be trouble, of the highest kind.”_

_His sister had seemed horrified then. “You don’t think the king is as far gone as that to threaten a pregnant woman and her child do you? Surely he must know that if he does that then Dorne will not be pleased, and the north would not be as well, though Brandon is betrothed he told me that the north takes care of its own, and this babe would be part northerner.”_

_Arthur had sighed then and said. “Ash, you know full well that he will. The king is not sane, and has not been for a long time. If Rhaegar was not so full of himself obsessing over the Stark girl then perhaps he would act quicker, but I will not have you put in danger for one night of passion. I shall speak with Eltor, and have him arrange for you to leave the city under the cover of night. The fewer people who know about this the better.”_

And so his sister had left, two days ago, Eltor Dayne a cousin of theirs who had as large a network of contacts as the Spider had managed to arrange for Ashara to leave under the cover of darkness, with any luck she would be in Dorne by the time the King learnt of her disappearance. Before she had left, Ashara had looked at him and said. “Don’t get wrapped up in whatever nonsense Rhaegar is into now brother, you are a far better man than him, and Elia only deserves the best.” And with that she had left, and Arthur had thought long and hard about her words. Now it seemed they were about to be tested, his prince had summoned him to his chambers and Arthur had a deep suspicion as to why he had been summoned. Oswell was also present and Arthur’s suspicions were only growing. “You wished to see me, my prince?” Arthur asked.

His friend looked at him and said. “The time has come Arthur, Oswell. I have dithered for too long here, Elia has birthed Aegon, and nearly died in doing so. She can give me no more children, I  had wished that it would be different but now I realise that it must be a sign from the gods. Visenya Targaryen was Aegon the Conqueror’s warrior queen, and it should only be fitting that Lyanna Stark the she wolf gives birth to my Aegon’s Visenya. She must be mine and she will be.”

“But my prince,” Arthur said. “Has the Lady Lyanna not begun expressing doubts about moving forward with what you had planned? Would it not be better to have her be fully on board with what you have planned before you abscond with her? Otherwise you will be no better than Aerys, at least in the minds of the Starks.”

Rhaegar looked at him and said. “As you are my friend Arthur, I shall let that go. But this must be done, Lyanna understands what must be done. She has accepted her role in what is to come, and she knows that what I offer her is something that no one else can offer her. A way out from her betrothal to that oaf of a man Robert Baratheon. She knows that there is no dishonour in what she is doing, her family will be happy that their daughter is a wife to a King.”

“What of Aerys Your Grace?” Arthur asked, trying a different tact trying to appeal to his friend’s sense of duty.

“My father can wait for now, he grows mad aye, but he has been neutralized by the Spider, for now.  I have sent a raven to Lord Tywin asking for him to return to King’s Landing as soon as he can. This is destiny Arthur, this must come to pass for the prince and the prophecy to be fulfilled. Now can I count on you both to play your parts in what is to come, or do I need to find someone else to fulfil the role of guardian to the future Queen?” Rhaegar says passionately.

Arthur sighs and looks at Oswell who has barely concealed disgust in his eyes, and they both say together. “Yes Your Grace, you can count on us.”

And with that the preparations are made and they ride out from King’s Landing two days after that, the King believes them to be riding out to Summerhall but the Spider merely looks at them with a single eyebrow raised and Arthur knows he knows. Still he cares not and so he rides out with the prince, and as they ride through the crownlands he has an inner monologue with himself about what they are doing, the prince is largely silent throughout the journey until they come up close to Rushing Falls where he says. “Draw your swords, she will have guards and we must disarm them before Lyanna will come into our possession.”

Arthur draws Dawn out of its sheath and listens as Rhaegar roars out to the company of men and women who seem to be riding away from them. “Halt in the name of King Aerys Targaryen.” The riders stop and then Rhaegar rides closer, Arthur and Oswell following. “I have come for the Lady Lyanna, she is to be placed under my protection from the treasons of my father”

A big brute of a man draws his sword and snarls. “And why should we believe you, dragon scum? You were the one who shamed our lady with your actions.”

“My lady,” Rhaegar says. “Will you consent to leaving with me?”

Lyanna looks at the prince and the  looks at her escort and she says. “I will, stand down Beron, Torrhen.” And with that she spurs her horse on towards Rhaegar, and she says to her escort. “Tell my brother that I will see him soon.” And with that she rides on ahead.

Rhaegar hesitates and then turns to Arthur and says. “Kill her escort leave not one of them alive.”

Arthur nods, and then advances on the two men Beron and Torrhen and he swings his sword at Beron killing him with three blows, he then turns toward the man Torrhen who puts up more of a fight. A swing, a hack, a cut, a duck, a dodge, a blow, and then another swing and Torrhen is dead. There are two women in the escort as well and Arthur is not sure just what to do with them, he simply looks at them and says. “Ride to Riverrun and tell them what has happened.”

With that he rides on catching up with the prince, Lady Lyanna and Ser Oswell and they ride for Dorne arriving there some two weeks later, whilst a storm brews in King’s Landing and Westeros prepares for war once more.


	6. Descent to War

**Barth Mormont**

Ever since he had returned north from Harrenhal, all anyone of his friends of relatives even people he had never truly spoken to before could speak about was his duel with Ser Arthur Dayne. Whilst he found all the attention truly quite flattering and an honour, it was honestly beginning to grate on his nerves. The fight with Ser Arthur Dayne whilst being a surprise was genuinely quite a nice challenge, the man was just as good as the stories made him out to be and it was by pure luck and chance that Barth managed to beat him that day, but from the way people like Brandon had been telling it, it was almost as if he had completely destroyed the Sword of the Morning. All of that was what was grating on his nerves, Barth was a good swordsman he had always known that, but he was not some god with a sword, and it seemed that the north had gotten carried away with all the hype. Just the other day whilst he had been in Winterfell, Barth had found Barbrey Ryswell in his bed star bullock naked, wet and willing. Whilst she was an attractive woman, she was Brandon’s and Barth was also married and so he had shown her to the door and made sure no other loose women could make it into his room without his knowledge.

As for the tourney itself, that seemed like something that most in the north did not wish to speak of. What had happened there with Rhaegar’s stupidity and Aerys growing paranoia had worried everyone in the north, and had brought back the haunting words of the traitor Donnor Stark, and had made them echo in everyone’s heads with uncomfortable regularity. Barth had seen his cousin Lord Rickard Stark making preparations for a fully protected Moat Cailin and had overheard him discussing things like war tactics and battle plans with Barth’s own father. Still his father wanted the marriages between Brandon and Catelyn Tully and Lyanna and that oaf Robert Baratheon to go ahead, and Brandon had been sent south to begin the preparations with Riverrun before telling Rickard that all would be okay for him to come down south. Lyanna had gone south with her brother as well, to get used to life as a southern lady before her own wedding.

As for Barth well he had plenty to keep him occupied, Lyarra had just given birth to another child, a girl whom they had named Branda in honour of his mother. Branda like Brandon and Jeor before her, was a big girl, and with a crop of dark brown hair and a long face, looked more like Barth than her older two brothers did. Barth loved her something fierce, he loved his two boys something fierce, but with Branda it was something different, she was his little girl and he would do all he could to make sure that she was happy and everything she could ever want. Brandon and Jeor had seemingly reversed roles with regards to their personalities, Brandon was now quiet and shy whilst Jeor was loud and boisterous, it was something that Barth found quite interesting, and wanting to know more about the change had asked Maester Walys who was more knowledgeable on the subject but the man had not know and there had been nothing on it in any books in the library in Winterfell and so Barth had given up pursuing the topic for the time being. As to things with Lyarra, they had never been better, Barth loved how their conversations could swing from swords and over such things to matters of the mind and history in an instant, it kept him on his toes, and made him strive to know as much as he could. He loved his wife, truly he did and he wanted to make sure that they grew old together.

As for things back on Bear Island, things between his mother and father had never been better, they were each other’s strong right hands in whatever they pursued. The usually truculent Woolfields had finally stopped pestering Barth’s father on some matter or the other, there had finally been a reduction in wilding raiders with the last ones being kept in carved boxes in Bear Hall. The Ironborn had been broken and thrown back into the sea last time Barth had been home. And his aunt Maege and her children were doing well, no one truly knew who the father of his aunt’s children were, but in true Mormont fashion, the talk that they had been fathered by bears became common rumour and something of  a myth. If Barth was being honest he preferred his aunt to his brother Jorah, his aunt he saw as more of a big sister, she was truly more light hearted and free spirited than Jorah, and Barth had found in his youth that he had been able to go to her for advice and other such things more than he had ever been able to ask Jorah about such things. His brother was far too serious and glum for even Barth, and the fact that his wife Erena had not yet given him a living heir was something of a worry as well, and it only served to make Jorah more and more grim and serious, and Barth did have a suspicion that he might have fathered a bastard or to on Elena Woolfield last time he had been home.

But that was not the key issue for now, no the key issue was that they were marching off to war. Lyanna had been abducted by Rhaegar Targaryen on her way to Riverrun and they had gone off to gods alone knew where. Brandon being the protective older brother that he was, had once he had found out had ridden straight for King’s Landing where he had supposedly challenged Rhaegar to a trial by combat, Aerys Targaryen had thrown Brandon and his companions in prison and had summoned their fathers to court to answer for their sons crimes. Lord Rickard had gone down south and had demanded trial by combat, Aerys had agreed but had had the man burnt alive in his armour whilst Brandon choked on trying to get to the sword that would free him and his father. To make matters worse, Aerys had then demanded Eddard’s head. The north had decided against remaining silent, and as such the banners had been called and here they were waiting to march south. 3,000 men had come from Bear Island under Barth, Jorah and their father Jeor’s command. In total some 12,000 men had come to Winterfell from the north, west and east of the north, with more to join them on the way down south. But for now a war council had been called and all the lords waited to see what this southerner Lord of Winterfell would say. “My lords, I thank you all for coming and answering the call to arms so promptly. What happened in King’s Landing has shown that the Targaryens are bereft of judgement and can no longer be trusted with the security of the realm. But before we discuss the future of the realm, we must discuss what will happen in the north and on the march south.” The man paused for a minute and then said. “My brother Benjen shall remain here as the Stark in Winterfell, any reinforcements that are requested from Winterfell shall answer to him when they arrive. Furthermore, with the fighting likely to take place in the Riverlands, it is necessary that we bring Lord Hoster Tully to our side, and the only way to do that is to wed his daughter Catelyn.” At that there was much murmuring and consternation. Lord Eddard though spoke up. “As much as I do not like the idea myself, I am honour bound to fulfil my brother’s betrothal, and the marriage will give us the swords of Riverrun, a beneficial advantage in what is to come. Now I would hear your thoughts on the march south.”

Barth’s father spoke then his voice gruff. “Well as you say my lord, in order to win this war we must bring the Tullys to our side, and your marriage will do that. The question is there is just one unpredictable factor in this all. Tywin Lannister. Whoever Tywin Lannister sides with, will ultimately win this war, because the man has enough gold to keep the war going for as long as he sees best for his house. Therefore it will be important to bring the man in to our side as quickly as possible, and the only way to do that will be through a marriage, but we do not know where Lady Lyanna is and as such we must remain neutral on that front.”

Lord Eddard’s face hardens at his father’s suggestion. “Lya is betrothed to Robert and shall remain so until circumstance dictates otherwise. The Lannisters will remain neutral for as long as it benefits them that we all know. No what I want to know is who would be deemed best fit for leading the men, that is what I wish to know. Who wants the honourable positions of command of the northern host?”

The Greatjon spoke then and said. “Us Umbers have always been the staunchest of supporters to your family my lord. We are also the best warriors in the north, and as such I ask for the honour of leading the vanguard. We’ll shove a bloody spear up Rhaegar Targaryen’s bunghole and bring back Lady Lyanna in time for dinner. Give me command of the Vanguard and this war is won.”

There was silence and then Lord Bolton spoke his voice soft but no less piercing. “Was it not you who lost the battle of the mountain to Donnor Stark and his mountain tribes Lord Umber? Throwing away the right to defeat the man there and then, with some careless moves? How do we know that such a thing will not happen when we march south and face a foe on their home terrain and not a bunch of backwards clansmen?”

Lord Umber begins bristling. “I was wet behind the ears back then my lord of Bolton. I am not wet behind the ears now, I know where I went wrong and I swear by the old gods I would not throw away such a good position again. This time, I will break the bloody southerners and make sure that we win this war before it has even begun.”

“Bold words my lord,” Lord Bolton says softly. “But only actions can prove them, and yet if I were Lord Stark I would not feel confident in placing you in charge of the most important part of the army, not when we shall be going up against men as battle hardened as Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan Selmy and Lord Merryweather as well. No I would rather have the man who beat Ser Arthur Dayne and slew Donnor Stark’s sons in charge of the vanguard.”

There is some murmuring at that and then Lord Umber says rather dejectedly. “Aye I suppose that would make sense, still I do ask for my name to be considered for the command of the vanguard Lord Stark.”

Lord Eddard has sat in silence throughout all of the discussion and at the end of it speaks his voice soft and calm. “Very well, Lord Barth,” he says looking at Barth. “I have thought about this long and hard and have decided that you shall lead the Vanguard. It was often said to me that you want your best warriors in the positions where they will be of most use. For you that shall be in the van, break the enemy host early and the battles we fight are as good as won.”

“I am honoured my lord. I will not let you down.” Barth says.

“Good, now as to whom shall command the left and right of the hosts. Lord Umber, since you are so eager for command you shall hold the left. Lord Bolton I shall give you command of the reserve, and I shall take command of the right. Now, with that done, when we march south we shall have to march passed the Twins. Lord Walder is well known for trying to exact his toll from those who march through his lands during times of war. The question is what he will want to exact from me.”

“He won’t dare hold you up too long, not with Hoster Tully holding two of his sons as wards, two of his favourite sons apparently. Plus the man will know he cannot get anything from you now anyway.” Lord Bolton says.

From there the discussion eventually tapers out, and when Barth is alone with his father and brother, his father says. “So for a change you shall be giving me orders in battle eh lad. Now doesn’t that make for a nice change?”

“Aye, it will be strange father that is for sure. Why did Lord Eddard not give command of the van to you though?” Barth asks.

“Because he is unsure of me, but you, he knows from Harrenhal, and our Lord Eddard is someone who trusts someone based on what he sees of them from the first meeting. He is green as grass and will need to be shown the ropes, on the march south before we have to fight battles.” Lord Jeor says. “Just be careful of Umber though, that man is loyal aye but he is ambitious and he will want to prove himself more and more as the war goes on. We must not let him get in the way of what we want.”

“Aye, don’t screw up. This is not Donnor Stark nor is it those wildlings brother. We can’t have you rushing headlong into the fray like you always do. Show some restraint.” Jorah says.

“Aye.” Barth says and soon enough two days later they are marching south past the Twins and towards Riverrun and the war that is now more and more real.


	7. Griffin Hand

**Lord Jon Connington**

For many years Jon had dreamed of being hand of the king, true enough when he had been squiring alongside Rhaegar, Tywin Lannister the old lion was hand, but Jon had grown close to Rhaegar during their time as squires, and Rhaegar during one of the times when he was actually speaking sense had decided that Jon would be named hand when he became king. That in itself had been an honour for Jon, and now here he was some six years after that whole discussion serving as hand, not to Rhaegar but to the man’s father. Aerys Targaryen, whom some called the mad king, had named Jon hand, not because of his proven political acumen but because he supposedly wanted someone who could match the youthfulness of the traitor Robert Baratheon. Baratheon had had a good start to his rebellion, winning at Gulltown, and Summerhall before being beaten at Ashford, Aerys had dismissed the horn of plenty hand Owen Merryweather who had not taken the rebellion seriously believing that the lords within the vale and the Stormlands were far to loyal to do anything but remain loyal.

King’s Landing had become a bit of mire since Harrenhal, truly it had. The king had grown steadily more paranoid that someone was out to get him, sometimes that blame lay with Rhaegar and other times it was the ravings of a mad man. Jon had been present in the throne room, when Rosby had been burnt alive for supposedly withholding taxes from the crown. Jon had been there when the king had had Owen Merryweather burnt alive and had had to use every inch of his political savvy to beg the king to allow the man’s son and other family to survive and go into exile. Jon could still smell the burnt flesh that was often left hanging in the air of the throne room for weeks after the event had happened. The screams of the dying often woke him up at night and made things ten times worse. He had been there when Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark had been burnt and choked to death respectively, and he had heard Aerys mad cackling.

Rhaegar, it should have been Rhaegar’s duty to reign in his father, for so long his friend had lived in denial about just how mad his father truly was. Jon knew that Rhaegar had hoped against hope that his father could be salvaged and brought back from the depths of hell, but alas it was not to be and after Hayford had been burnt alive, Rhaegar had realised just how far gone his father was. Harrenhal was supposed to see the ending of Aerys reign and the beginning of Rhaegar’s, but that damned spider ruined that, and now Rhaegar was gone, left with Lyanna Stark to gods alone knew where. Jon knew that his friend had been obsessed with some prophecy or the other for years, and that he had wanted to have three children to mimic the conqueror and his two wives, but as far as Jon was concerned his friend had gone too far this time round. The realm was bleeding and there was nothing any of them could truly do about it unless Rhaegar came back from wherever it was he was holed up in with the Stark girl and admitted to committing a wrong deed, but Rhaegar was not one to be told he was wrong. And so it fell to Jon as hand of the king to try and put a bandage on the wound that had opened on Westeros. Hence why this council meeting had been called. The members of the small council apart from the king were all present, Varys the master of whispers, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, Master of coin Lord Chelstead, master of laws Lord Jason Celtigar, and master of ships Lord Monford Velaryon as well as Grand Maester Pycelle. Jon cleared his throat and spoke. “My lords I thank you for coming here today. The king would have joined us had he not had other matters to attend to. Now I think considering it is the biggest concern we have at the moment we should hear about the war first. Lord Varys, what news do you have on that front?”

The eunuch cleared his throat and said in that high pitched voice of his. “Well my lords, my birds have been very active as of late, and have come back to report to me that Mace Tyrell and the Tyrell Host, some 80,000 men are now laying siege to Storm’s End both by land and by sea. The Redwyne fleet blocks of Shipbreaker’s bay and the ground host blocks of the Storm Road and other entry ways into the Stormlands, and Storm’s End. The Stormlords who could not make it north with Robert Baratheon after Ashford have either been killed or have bent the knee.”

Jon nodded. “That is good news. Pycelle I want a raven sent to Tyrell, tell him that those Stormlords who have bent the knee are to be incorporated into the forces that lay siege to Storm’s End and are to be accepted back into the king’s peace. Now what more news do you have Varys?”

The eunuch looked at the papers in front of him and said. “Lord Stark and the northmen have crossed the Twins, and it seems that Lord Walder did not ask of anything from Stark or any of his bannermen. A most interesting thing that, considering how greedy Lord Walder has become in his old age. Furthermore, it appears that Stark has given command of the vanguard to Barthogan Mormont, the man commands some 7,000 men as part of the vanguard all of them very good fighters. Though my birds report that his brother Jorah Mormont has become increasingly resentful of the opportunities that his brother has gotten and the successes he has had.”

Jon thinks this other for a moment before saying. “You say you have sources in the northern war camp?” Varys nods and Jon goes on. “Very well, tell them to give the following offer to Mormont. If he delivers us Stark chained and bound as well as Barth Mormont, he can become Lord Paramount of the North and once Lyanna Stark has been found, he can wed her and become Lord of Winterfell as well. That should be enough to tempt the man into doing something.”

Pycelle the old crone stirs then and asks. “Will Mormont agree to such a thing though my lord hand? The Mormonts have always been staunchly loyal to the Starks and the man’s father was Edwyle Stark’s right hand man as well as Lord Rickard’s right hand man. What is there to say he will not completely reject this offer and go to Lord Eddard and tell him what he was offered?”

Jon looks at the man and says. “Ambition, the man is a firstborn son, being overshadowed by his younger brother. He would not be normal if he did not want to do something more for himself. Send the offer Varys and let us see what unfolds from that. Now what news of the Vale Host, where are they?”

Varys looks at his notes and then says. “My birds report that Lord Jon Arryn is heading towards Riverrun same as Lord Eddard Stark, to bring Lord Tully into their alliance, they plan on marrying the Tully sisters Lords Stark and Arryn that way Tully will have no choice but to side with them. Still, Arryn is being hounded in the rear by men still loyal to the throne, and as such these men are waiting for instruction as well my lord.”

Jon is silent for a moment and then says. “Very well Pycelle I want an offer sent to Tully. Tell him if he bars his doors to Arryn and Stark, I will command Tyrell to bring his forces from Storm’s End to smash the Arryn- Stark host, and the royal host shall come and aid them as well. IN return for this, his daughters will get more profitable marriages, Catelyn Tully shall be wed to myself, and his second daughter will be wed to Baelor Hightower. That should be enough to tempt the man.”

Pycelle nods and then Lord Velaryon asks. “And what do you wish to do about Storm’s End my lord hand? We cannot allow it to remain free, if we continue to keep it under siege be it by sea or land then, the Baratheons will not be able to send all of their might out into the field and that will mean that their bannermen will be more likely to keep to the throne.”

Jon looks at the man and sees something of himself in him, Lord Monford Velaryon the son of Lord Vaemond Velaryon, a proud sea captain, the sea snake, a fighter and a bold man, yes Jon can see the wisdom in what he is suggesting. “Aye, Lord Monford, I want you to take the royal fleet and lay siege to Storm’ s End alongside the Redwyne Fleet make it so that none can get into or out of Storm’s End, you shall have 2,000 men from the crownlands to aid you as well. Sooner or later Storm’s End will be done. Now Pycelle I want those ravens sent out as soon as possible.”

The man nods and the council meeting comes to an end, by the time they learn that Robert Baratheon is hiding in the Stoney Sept and the banners of the crownlands have been called, some two weeks has passed and there has been no answer from either Lord Tully or from Lord Tyrell, Jon begins to panic. Before he departs for the Stoney Sept with his army numbering some 12,000 strong the king summons him before court and asks for a report. Jon swallows nervously before replying. “Well Your Grace, as you know Lord Monford went with half the royal fleet to lay siege to Storm’s End by sea alongside the Redwyne fleet. Lords Waxley, Wydman and the Lords of the Three Sisters have sent men that will meet our host beneath the God’s Eye. Robert Baratheon will not know that we are coming, we shall take him by surprise and end this rebellion once and for all.”

The king looks at him then, his eyes squinty and his chin quivering, and he says sharply. “You had best deliver on your word boy. You do not want to wake the dragon now do you. Bring me Robert Baratheon’s head and you shall have all the riches and glory you could ever dream of and more. Bring me the heads of these traitors and all shall be yours, Riverrun, Storm’s End, Winterfell you name it, it shall be yours. End this rebellion Jon Connington and your name shall live on in history.”

“I shall bring you their heads Your Grace.” Jon promises. Shortly after that he and his men ride out for battle, where they meet the rebel vale lords numbering some 3,000 beneath the God’s Eye and from there they ride for the Stoney Sept. When they get to the town it appears deserted, the people are all clearly in doors, perhaps due to the rain, or because they were expecting them. Jon is not perturbed by this instead he shouts. “Search every house you can, knock down doors, do what you must to find Robert Baratheon, but find him alive.”

The search for Robert Baratheon goes on for hours, and Jon can feel himself growing more and more nervous, where is the bloody bastard? Has he fled already, had these traitors let him go? He can hear the beating of hooves somewhere in the distance and his heart begins to catch in his chest, are these his reinforcements or are these Robert’s men. A part of his mind his screaming at him to set fire to the town and let them be burnt to the ground, that is what Tywin Lannister would do,  but he is not Tywin Lannister. “No sign of them my lord hand.” Ser Desmond Massey says his voice hoarse and broken.

“No matter,” Jon says drawing his sword as the banners of a bear come into view as do the banners of the direwolf of House Stark. “It appears we have company. Get ready men, fight and kill, and find me, Robert bloody Baratheon!”  The fighting is close and tense, Jon swings his sword left and right cutting through Stark and Tully soldiers alike, praying against hop=e that he does not come face to face with the big bear as Mormont is known as for he knows he will not last. He keeps swinging his sword, killing more and more men, swinging, cutting and hacking, he brings down a man he will later learn is called Denys Arryn the heir to the Vale, and he keeps going, swinging his sword and killing more and more men and yet there is no sight of Baratheon nor Eddard Stark.

He crosses swords with old Hoster Tully and they fight for what seems like hours, swinging their swords at one another, both fighting to kill. Jon swings and swings, cutting, hacking doing what he can to dent Tully’s defences, and Tully is doing the same. They are both beaten and bruised, blood pouring from countless wounds and Jon’s vision is becoming more and more impaired, when Robert Baratheon finally comes swaggering out dressed in his armour and bellowing. Jon cuts Hoster Tully off of his horse and leaves the man to die, and rides towards Baratheon his sword raised.

Their fight is something Jon will relive for many years, and it is something that as it happens causes him pain. Baratheon is fresh, Jon is tired and wear abut still they fight, swinging, hacking, blocking, blow upon blow, upon blow. They are losing this, Jon is losing consciousness, and still he keeps swinging his sword, going and going and going until he can’t swing anymore and Baratheon disappears from view and someone is shouting  for them to retreat and he realises  that it is him shouting for them to retreat. He is covered in blood and he does not know when or how but suddenly they arrive back in king’s landing and Jon knows he has failed, Baratheon lives and the rebellion ill go on.

Jon is barely able to stand up right when he is brought before the king who sits the throne with a wild look on his face. “You failed Connington. You made a promise you could not keep and now Baratheon continues on unmolested. You betrayed me, and betraying your king is treason, I should have you burnt alive, but instead I shall exile you and have your family’s lands reduced for your failure. Leave here and never come back Connington.”

Jon leaves dejected and beaten, just as Ser Gerold leaves to find Rhaegar. And the bells toll loud as can be in his head. 


	8. Tears Don't Fall

**Jorah Mormont**

Jorah Mormont was not a boastful man, he knew just what pride and boasts could do to a man he had seen it plenty of times in Bear Island where men had boasted of bedding women to one another only for them to end up dead with a knife through their eye, from the angry husband or brother. As such Jorah had never truly had much to boast about, he did not come from one of the great houses of the north, House Mormont on Bear Island was poor and often struggled to maintain their keep, they fought for their survival daily, against wildlings, Ironborn and even the odd savage bear that adorned their sigil. Jorah himself, though a good warrior, was nothing compared to his little brother Barth, and that was something that both filled him with pride as well as filled him with some small amount of jealousy. His brother was covering himself in glory and had been doing so since he could wield a sword, Barth was this monster of a man in battle, Jorah had seen his brother fight against the Ironborn and the wildlings and then during the battle of the bells it had been Barth’s charge that had seen Jon Connington’s host break and give Robert Baratheon the chance to come out swinging. All the northern lords were singing his little brother’s praises, and Jorah felt as if he was being constantly compared to his little brother and found lacking.

His brother was wed and had three children by his wife, the Greatjon’s sister, and whilst Jorah’s goodsister was a nice woman and a very capable wife and mother, Jorah could not help but resent his brother that little bit of happiness as well. For Jorah’s own marriage was troubled, for ten years he had been wed to Erena Glover, and in that time she had had two miscarriages, she had finally given birth to a healthy boy whom she had named Rickard, but she herself had been claimed by a fever some two weeks after their son was born. Jorah had mourned her deeply when the news had come, writ in his aunt Maege’s hand, his wife had been a nice sweet woman, whom he had loved deeply, but now she was gone and their son was all that was left of her. Jorah knew not how he felt about that or about anything and he sometimes wondered what would have happened had Barth been the older sibling. Such thoughts had made the offer that had come from the throne very tempting, the chance to become Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North was more than Jorah had ever thought possible, but then the clincher had made him realise what it would cost him. Aerys Targaryen wanted him to deliver his brother, his father and his liege lord’s heads to King’s Landing, and only then would he have Lyanna Stark and the lordship of the north. He knew that such a thing would never work, the northern lords were to fiercely loyal to Winterfell for that, and besides he could never ever betray his family like that, no matter how slighted or troubled he felt, he was no oath breaker, no kinslayer.

Such thoughts had plagued him during the battle of the bells, what some were calling Barth’s finest hour. Throughout the battle Jorah had been worried that he would come into contact with Jon Connington the man who had been serving as Aerys hand and that his deepest desires would be bared for all to hear, it was a fear that had made him fight like a mad man, as if something had taken hold of him. After the battle and Connington’s retreat, Barth had praised him, saying that it had been him who had made sure the charge did not break, and his father had praised him as well, something that had been a rarity as of late. And yet Jorah could not help but feel as if he was undeserving of it all, he had thought many times of what might be should he simply give into temptation and allow the snakes in his mind the right of way. But he had persevered, and they had returned to Riverrun where the marriages of Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn to Catelyn and Lysa Tully had gone ahead as planned, and it seemed that the Stark line would continue for word had come that Lady Catelyn was with child.

Eddard Stark was a grim man, solemn and not prone to smiling and despite this he and Barth seemed to get along reasonably well, it seemed Barth had gotten over his initial suspicions of Stark for being raised in the south and had found some sort of connection with their liege lord. As far as Jorah was concerned the man was very grim, too grim if truth be told though with all that was going wrong for his family, Jorah supposed he had a right to be. After all a winter fever had swept through the north and had claimed a fair few of the northern nobility that were left behind, including Lord Stark’s own younger brother Benjen, who was no older than Erena’s brother Robett. Stark had been very solemn then and the question of succession had arisen but for now it seemed that was being put on the back burner, though Jorah knew his father was beginning to smell blood in the water as far as Winterfell was concerned.

As for the war, well after the battle of the bells there had been some minor skirmishes between their forces and those still sworn to Aerys Targaryen. Lord Hoster had put to the sword many of the men fighting for Lord Goodbrook and Lord Mooton, putting both lines very close to extinction, whilst Jorah and his brother had led men out to Tumbler’s Falls where they had smashed the ruins of Lord Wydman’s host to pieces. Of course they needed to take King’s Landing but for that they needed the passageway to be clear and as such they had marched from Tumbler’s Falls and joined up with the rest of the northern host on the eastern banks of the Green  Fork and then they marched towards the crossing. And their scouts had reported movement from the south it seemed Rhaegar Targaryen had finally emerged from wherever it was that he had been hiding and had decided to finally man up and fight. As such a war council had been called and Jorah, Barth, their father Jeor, Lord Stark, Lord Umber, Lord Bolton, Lord Jon Arryn, Lord Royce, Lord Corbray, Lord Hoster Tully, Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood as well as Robert Baratheon were all gathered in the command tent. It was Lord Arryn who spoke first he voice measured and calm. “Our scouts report that Rhaegar Targaryen’s host is marching at quite quick pace up the Kingsroad towards the main crossing of the Fork. Prince Lewyn Martell has brought 10,000 Dornish spears to bolster their numbers and so the royal host stands now at roughly 40,000. 5,000 more than our own host.”

Robert Baratheon snorts then. “Numbers make no matter, Targaryen and what men he has, are untested in battle, and what men they have that know how to swing their swords, are so scared of defeat they will flee at the next sight of it.”

“It would not hurt to have eyes out in the field before we engage in battle though Your Grace,” Lord Eddard said. “After all Rhaegar Targaryen might be untested in the field of battle, but those who he has with him are not. Men such as Barristan Selmy, Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn know their way around a battle field and will be advising him on what moves he should make. The more eyes we have out in the field, the more likely it is for us to be able to discern his strategy.”

The would be king looked at Lord Stark for a minute and then said gruffly. “Very well then, but I want our best eyes sent out, and I want a detailed report, if we are going to ninnies and send out scouts, I want them to give us the best possible advantage, so that when I fight that Dragonspawn I can kill him knowing his protectors failed in their job. Now what other news is there for us to discuss?”

Lord Arryn speaks then and his voice is coated with hesitancy. “My sources tell me that Aerys Targaryen has sent word to Casterly Rock to ask for aid from Tywin Lannister in the fighting to come. It would also appear that Tywin Lannister has finally heeded the mad king’s call to arms, for he has called his banners and 12,000 men assembled at the Golden Tooth waiting for further instruction from Lannister. If he arrives at the Trident whilst the fighting is still going on Your Grace, then we could find ourselves most overmatched, and this battle will be for naught. If we were to make him an offer that would make him more inclined to joining our side...”

It is an old argument clearly, and one that the Stag is tired of hearing for he bellows. “I will not tell you again Jon, I will not wed the man’s god damned daughter. I am betrothed to Lady Lyanna and I mean to see that marriage through. Once I have found out where she is and I have killed Rhaegar Bloody Targaryen, Tywin Lannister will kneel to me or I shall crush him.”

“Very well then,” Lord Arryn says somewhat exasperatedly. “Well there is not much else for us to discuss except to discuss who will man what side of the crossing. The Vale will take the right hand bank of the Green Fork, for that is where the rebel Valelords are likely to be stationed. Lord Tully, Lord Stark do you have any preferences?”

Lord Tully says simply. “If it is alright with his grace, I would like to man the centre of the fords.”

Robert nods his head in acceptance and then Lord Stark speaks his voice solemn. “the North shall take the left bank then, and we shall make sure they do not break through us.”

With that the meeting comes to an end, though, Lord Stark calls, Jorah, Barth, their father as well as Lords Bolton and Umber into his tent shortly after. “You all know what our position will be during the upcoming battle my lords. As during the battle of the bells, Barth I want you and the van to make the initial insurgence, break whatever foe it is we come across and pave the way for the rest of us to come in and finish the job. Should Rhaegar Targaryen be amongst the men you fight, defeat him and capture him alive. Robert might want the man dead, but I want to know where my sister is.”

“Perhaps it would be best if Robert Baratheon and his men were stationed within the van as well? To make sure that they can be kept an eye on?” Lord Bolton asks.

Lord Stark sighs then. “Robert would not take kindly to that, no let him fight where he will, but make sure that Rhaegar is taken alive should you come across him.” With that their second meeting comes to an end.

In the end the battle of the Trident starts two days after their war council, the Dornish are the ones threatening Robert’s left flank on the left bank and so that is where the northern host fights. The bank is soon littered with bodies, Jorah fights alongside his brother and father, watching with equal parts amazement and jealousy as his brother cuts down men older and more experienced than him as if they are nothing more than flies. Jorah for his own part swings his sword and fights long and hard, cutting down men and trying to drown out their cries.

The ground is littered with bodies and still the fighting goes on, swinging his sword left, right and centre, Jorah kills one man, then another and then another. On it goes, this fight, the struggle for freedom, the battle to end the war continues, swinging his sword left, right and centre, he pushes through man after man killing them with a fervour he did not know he possessed. Swinging, hacking and cutting, some of the Dornishmen manage to get through his defences and dent his armour and wound him but still he pushes on, swinging his sword like a man possessed, hacking and slashing until there are no more Dornishmen left to kill, they seemed to have disappeared.

His brother comments on this, his breathing heavy. “Where have those vipers got to? Surely they could not have already been broken could they?”

“No I do not think it is that, look here comes a rider.” Their father replied.

And sure enough there was little Howland Reed, Lord Eddard’s closest companion. He was covered in blood and gore, but he spoke quickly. “Lord Robert has been slain, but we are to keep fighting, Rhaegar is badly injured. Keep fighting.”

“Father?” Barth asks.

“You heard the man,” their father says. “We keep fighting until we drop down dead. FOR WINTERFELL, FOR BEAR ISLAND!” And the counter attack begins again.


	9. What If I Was Nothing?

**Prince Lewyn Martell**

The battle of the Trident had been a very bloody affair, Lewyn remembered that much, the war that Prince Rhaegar had started when he had kidnapped Lyanna Stark, had finally come to a head at the Trident. Lewyn had been in the form of his life that day, swinging his sword like a man possessed, leading the Dornish spears that had come from the Boneway Pass, reluctantly sent by his nephew Doran, his other nephew Oberyn had been part of the force as well. They had been threatening the usurper’s left flank when the northmen had attacked them and the fighting had gotten even more interesting. Lewyn had killed two of the biggest men he had ever faced in his life, both of them with a giant breakings his chains on their armour, they had fought well and hard, but Lewyn was a knight of the Kingsguard and was well experienced to boot, and as such he knew the tricks of the trade and knew to look for things that would give him clues as to the two men’s movements. The two men had died and Lewyn had moved on, swinging his sword like the Dornish viper he was, beside him Oberyn had been killing men with just a ferocious accuracy and passion.

They had nearly broken the northmen, nearly, news of Robert Baratheon’s death had deeply shocked many, but the fact that Rhaegar was still alive had given cause to the northmen who wanted the Targaryen prince dead and so the hard rearguard had begun. And Lewyn had fought through that doing all he could to make sure that he stayed alive, he had been badly hurt, the northmen might not be as technically sound nor as pretty to look at as fighters compared to the southerners, but they knew how to fight, and fight dirty. And so Lewyn had been very, very badly injured when he had come across the man they called the Big Bear, the man who had beaten Arthur in a fight at Harrenhal, Barthogan Mormont. The man was just as good as Arthur had said if not better, battle and experience had made him twice the fighter he would have been at Harrenhal, and Lewyn wounded as he already was, was soon on the floor unconscious from a blow he had been dealt by the big bear.

When he came to, it was on the northernmost banks of the Green Fork somewhere near the Twins. From his guards he learnt of the northern retreat following Eddard Stark’s death at the hands of Lewyn’s nephew Oberyn. The big bear’s father Jeor Mormont had taken command at the death of Eddard Stark, and had led the northmen away from the banks of the Trident, with his men holding swords to the throats of their prisoners both literally and figuratively, a gesture that was enough to force the loyalists to hesitate, and thus give Mormont and the northmen time enough to get away from the Trident and away from any sort of retribution. Lewyn’s injuries were treated to by one of the northerner’s maesters, a man who’s name escaped him now, but through that treatment and the gossip of his guards he learnt a bit more about what else had happened at the Trident. His fellow sworn brothers Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Barristan Selmy had both been slain on the banks of the Trident, Rhaegar had been badly wounded during his fight with the usurper and as such the royal army remained at the Trident waiting for the Prince to recover, as to what had happened to the rest of the rebels well it seemed Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn and their bannermen had all bent the knee to Rhaegar and were waiting to be brought back into the king’s peace.

Lewyn as a prisoner in the north, in Winterfell to be more specific, had had plenty of time to think about just how much a waste this war had been. It had all started because his niece’s husband could not keep it in his trousers, had the man taken a mistress that might have been more acceptable, perhaps, Lewyn was Dornish he knew about having a paramour, but openly absconding with a girl whilst his wife lay there nearly dying from giving birth to his heir, that was one step too far for Lewyn and his fellow countrymen. Rhaegar had only reappeared when the need had been most dire, more than likely to busy fucking the Stark girl, a girl who most likely had not wanted to be the attention of the prince’s affections. Meanwhile, Elia had been left to the whims of the mad man Aerys Targaryen had become, had Lewyn not been a knight of the Kingsguard he would have killed the man there and then and then gone to find Rhaegar himself, but he was a Kingsguard, and he had vows to uphold, vows Arthur seemed to have forgotten wherever he was.

Being a prisoner in Winterfell was not so bad, it was not a huge comfort but it was not as bad as what it could have been, he had food, and he had water, and he had access to books so he could read when he wanted to. It also seemed that the northern lords remembered that he would be more valuable alive than dead, as uncle to the princess of Dragonstone, though whether Aerys would truly be up to having him back was another matter completely. There were times when being a prisoner could be monotonous, but there were times when it came in handy to be a lowly prisoner and not a knight of the Kingsguard, for his own guards sometimes liked to gossip like little fisherwomen at Sunspear. It was from them that he learnt of the succession dispute raging in the north over who should become Lord of Winterfell, with Eddard Stark’s death, as well as both his father and both his brothers being dead, his newborn son Robb by rights should have been lord of Winterfell, and yet it seemed Rhaegar had decided to raise Robb Stark as his ward in King’s Landing and so the northern lords it seemed were debating whether or not it would be worth having a southern influenced Lord of Winterfell ruling them or whether or not they should consult the annals of history for the next best candidate.

It was from there, it seemed that it was found that the next available northmen with the best claim to Winterfell was Barthogan Mormont the big bear himself, who had a claim through his mother Branda Stark who was the sister of Lord Eddard’s grandfather the feared Lord Edwyle. According to his guards there had been much debate about this, and eventually with some resounding approval from the most important northern lords that Barthogan become the next lord of Winterfell. Whether the man had agreed himself, or whether King’s Landing would agree as well Lewyn knew not, all he knew was that if Barthogan Mormont became Lord of Winterfell then that could likely spell more war and bloodshed. Mostly due to the fact that House Mormont had always been known as being the most anti Andal house in the north and were also very close to becoming pro separatist during the reign of Lord Edwyle, and before that the regency of Artos Stark. If Barthogan became Lord of Winterfell as he was sure to do, then there would be war, and the north would likely win.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his cell door opening, and there stood in the doorway was a big man, whose name escaped Lewyn. “You are wanted Dornishman, up you get we cannot keep the lords waiting.” And so Lewyn heaved himself to his feet and followed the big man up the flight of stairs, and through an alcove, then through another flight of stairs and then another, before arriving at the doorway to the Great Hall of Winterfell. The big man stopped before the doors and said. “Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, my lord, as asked.” Then he pushed Lewyn through the open doorway.

Lewyn walked into the hall and saw that it was jammed backed with people. All of whom were looking at him as if he had grown two heads. A big man, whom Lewyn belatedly realised was Barthogan Mormont was sat in the Winter Throne, dressed all in black, his voice was deep when he said. “Prince Lewyn, I hope your stay with us has been to your liking. But it must come to an end, Lord Hoster Tully here has come to pay for your release. Is that not right Lord Tully?”

Lewyn looked at the man who stood at the base of the throne, who swallowed and then said. “Yes my lord I have. In the name of his grace King Rhaegar Targaryen first of his name, I have come bearing 500,000 gold dragons and three prisoners from the north taken during the battle of the Trident in order to ensure Prince Lewyn’s release and safe return to King’s Landing, where he can retake his place as a member of his grace’s Kingsguard.”

Lewyn tries to hide his surprise at the way in which Lord Hoster has addressed Rhaegar, so the boy had finally managed to remove his father from the throne then? It had taken him long enough. Instead of openly asking, he instead said. “Thank you very much for this my lords. And my stay has been most enlightening Lord Mormont, I will be sure to give your compliments to King Rhaegar.”

There is some murmuring in the hall at that but then all goes quite as the big bear speaks in his deep voice once more. “Artos Fenn shall be accompanying you and your party Lord Hoster, to check up on young lord Robb, I hope that is not too much of a bother for you, or for his grace?”

Lord Hoster looks quite surprised at this but nonetheless says. “None at all my lord, I shall be sure to make sure that Lord Fenn has enough time with young Robb to ensure that you are all perfectly satisfied with how he is doing. Now we must truly be off.”

And with that they turn and leave from the Great Hall of Winterfell and ride out for King’s Landing that very same day. They have been on the road for nearly three weeks and are coming close to King’s Landing when Hoster Tully stops their party and asks to speak with Lewyn in private. His tone his hushed and anxious when he speaks. “Before we enter the city, I must warn you Prince Lewyn things are not all as they were when you were last here. King Aerys died drinking a cup of wildfire thinking it would turn him into a dragon, King Rhaegar ascended the throne but with many complications. Mace Tyrell continued to lay siege to Storm’s End for a very long time, only ending the siege when the king himself arrived to end the hostilities. Stannis Baratheon, myself and Jon Arryn all bent the knee, but myself and Lord Stannis have given up members of our family as wards to the king. But that is not all, your nephew Prince Oberyn remains in King’s Landing causing chaos. Expect things to be much different.”

Lewyn laughs then, and winces slightly at the pain in his chest. “My lord, I am from Dorne, we specialize in adapting to changes in the hostile kind. All I would wish to know now, is who has filled the post of my two sworn brothers who died at the Trident?”

Lord Hoster looks at him and then sighing says. “Ser Lucas Corbray and mine own brother Ser Brynden Tully. Now we must hurry, the king is waiting for you in his solar.”

They enter King’s Landing not with any pomp but quietly, the streets are relatively quiet, but still Lewyn has his guard up, his instincts kicking in, and as they enter the Red Keep, Lewyn nods in greeting at the Lady Ashara who is walking and talking with her brother Arthur. From there Lord Hoster leaves him, and Lewyn makes his way to the king’s solar. Where for years he had seen Aerys prattle on about gods alone knows what, and before him King Jaehaerys ponder the mysteries of life. Rhaegar Targaryen is sat stopped over some scroll or the other, and squints up when Lewyn enters. “Ah Prince Lewyn,” he says straightening up then. “I trust your journey went well, and that you have had a pleasant time getting used to the south once more. I would have allowed you sometime to get rested before settling into your duties once more but I need to know what information you have managed to gather from your time in the north.”

Lewyn sighs then suddenly feeling very tired, but his instincts as a Kingsguard kick in and he says. “From my time in the north I have come to learn a great many things Your Grace. It would appear that the northmen are not happy with what you have proposed with regards to the upbringing of young Robb Stark. Many times I heard my guards speaking about how they would rather have no lord of Winterfell at all than have some southerner rule over them with the Stark name. For the Starks have always symbolised the north and following the war, the north does not want anything to do with the south.”

The king snorts then and says. “The northmen always seem to have more pride than sense. What I am doing with regards to raising Lord Robb is for their good as much as it is for his. For too long the lord paramounts were allowed to do what they wished when they wished. That was why such alliances were allowed to be built up, I want my sons and daughter to know their bannermen when the time comes. I do not want them facing hostilities or simple courtesy, they must know their lords and ladies, to make sure such a thing as the war never happens again. Lord Robb will remain in King’s Landing and he shall be raised as such. Now what more have you learnt?”

 _Blind Fool, can you not see where this will go._ Lewyn thought but aloud he merely said. “There was quite a dispute over what the north would do following the war and Lord Eddard’s death. As far as I can tell not one lord wanted to wait for Lord Robb to reach maturity, and to bend the knee to him was seen as unthinkable to them all. It seems that they are considering making Barthogan Mormont Lord of Winterfell instead and ignoring Lord Robb all together. The man seemed to have unanimous support from the big houses of the north.”

“So that explains why they have taken so much time to respond to the terms that we have sent to them. I had thought they were simply waiting for better terms, but if what you say is true then I must act sooner than I had wanted to. They cannot be allowed to make that savage Lord of Winterfell. Where did the emissary who came south with you go?” Rhaegar asks.

Lewyn hesitates for a moment before saying. “He went to check on Lord Robb, I believe the northern lords wish to make sure he was being treated fairly.”

“It should not have taken him that long to check on the child, I was to speak with him soon after you. Send for Varys I want to know where this man has gone.” Rhaegar says.

Trouble is brewing, Lewyn can sense it but for now all he wants to do is sleep.


	10. Lifer

**Lord Jon Connington**

His exile, no matter how brief in tenure had been one of the worst experiences of Jon’s life. He had never felt so much rejection and failure as he had that day in the throne room when Aerys had sat there on the Iron Throne and derided him for all to hear calling him things that would surely have set his father and his grandfather and all his ancestors rolling in their graves in anger. Jon had been forced to accept the reprimands and the insults dealt his way by Aerys Targaryen, for the man was king, and if he was being honest with himself, Jon had preferred living in exile and disgrace to being burnt alive for saying some sort of foolhardy thing. Thinking back on it Jon was convinced there was nothing he could have done differently at the Stoney Sept, he was not Tywin Lannister to butcher thousands of people simply for one man, he had not wanted that on his consciousness and so he had acted as he had seen fit and as such he had been punished for it both in the battle and by Aerys. Jon had used what gold was left to him to pay for a voyage to Lys and from there he had wandered idly by the city, drinking and fighting his way through to make a living when news of Rhaegar’s victory at the Trident as well as a raven summoning back to King’s Landing had reached him.

The news of his silver prince’s victory had not surprised him, he had been convinced despite his failure at the Stoney Sept that Rhaegar would be the one triumph in the war at the end of it all, after all Rhaegar was the gods chosen one, and they would not let their vassal die. And when Jon had returned to King’s Landing he had found it much changed to how he had left it. King Aerys had died from drinking wildfire thinking that the thing would turn him into a dragon to defeat his son, even to his last days his paranoia had been something to behold. The pyromancers that Aerys had so favoured had all been executed by Rhaegar, for their part in trying to burn thousands of innocents to the ground. Jaime Lannister, the youngest of the Kingsguard had told Rhaegar now the king of what Aerys had been planning and so the man was hailed as a hero of the city. Rhaegar had also agreed to allow his mother and brother and sister, Queen Dowager Rhaella, Prince Viserys and the newborn Princess Daenaerys to remain on Dragonstone, sending Ser Lucas Corbray one of the new Kingsguard to guard them on Dragonstone. When Jon had asked his friend why he was content to have his mother and siblings remain in Dragonstone, Rhaegar had merely replied. “My mother has suffered enough because of this damned city, I would not have her raise my brother and sister in the same pit of vipers that I was raised in.” And so the Queen Dowager and her two younger children remained on Dragonstone.

As to the king’s own family, it seemed that the understanding that had seemingly existed between Princess Elia and Rhaegar had all but ended once Rhaegar had gone away with the Stark girl. The fruit of that escapade, Prince Aemon Targaryen was but a babe, but Rhaegar could not bear to look at the fruits of his labour, so convinced he had been that his child with Lady Lyanna would be a girl, a Visenya, and so ashamed was he of how the boy had come to be in the world, and what his birth had cost Lady Lyanna (her life) that Jon knew his friend was considering sending the babe to Dragonstone to grow up alongside his uncle and aunt. As to what things were like between the King and Queen and their children, Jon could only hazard a guess, he had never been fond of Elia Martell considering her beneath Rhaegar, but even he was surprised by how cold she was being towards the king. It was said that they barely slept together anymore, and that there was talk of Queen Elia returning to Dorne, though with her two children Rhaenys and Aegon still in King’s Landing such talk did not seem to be completely relevant anymore.

For Jon, such matters had never really mattered much, until the King had commanded him to wed Catelyn Tully, Eddard Stark’s widow and the mother of the new Lord of Winterfell Robb Stark. Rhaegar had told Jon that in order to make sure the north and the Tullys did nothing suspicious the boy needed to be raised in King’s Landing and Jon needed to wed and bed his mother and get her with children, so as to make sure that the north and the riverlands felt obliged to remain part of the realm. Jon had never truly been interested in women before, but even he could not deny how beautiful and regal Catelyn Tully was nor how radiant she had been on the day of their marriage in the Great Sept of Baelor. She was with child now, and Jon knew that the child needed to be a boy in order to secure the succession of Griffin’s Roost, that Rhaegar had restored to him along with all of their lands and incomes.

Rhaegar had also decided to make sure that his children grew up knowing their future bannermen. And so the heirs and firstborn daughters of the Lords Paramount were to be or already where present in King’s Landing growing up with the king’s own children. From the Westerlands had come young Tyrion Lannister, from the Reach Willas Tyrell, from the Vale had come Andar Royce, from Dorne had come Arianne Martell, from the Stormlands Renly Baratheon and from the Riverlands Edmure Tully. Jon thought the idea a smart move, and a ploy that would need to be handled very carefully but one that could pay off huge dividends in the future.

As to council business well there were a fair few things that needed to be discussed. The small council that Rhaegar had assembled was vastly different to the one his father had had. Where Aerys preferred men who were more likely to cow tow to him, Rhaegar preferred a council that would force him to think on his feet and come up with actual justifiable reasons for what he suggested. As such, the council was a formidable one, Jon served as hand, Lord Randyll Tarly a fierce warrior and known advocate of justice was master of laws, Lord Monford Velaryon who had come so close to breaking Storm’s End during the war was Master of Ships, Kevan Lannister was master of coin and a good one at that, and for the last three roles were the old faces from Aerys reign. Grand Maester Pycelle, Master of Whispers Lord Varys and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Gerold Hightower or the White Bull. They were all gathered in the small council chamber, awaiting Rhaegar to speak when he finally did his voice sounded tired and strained. “I thank you all for coming my lords. As you know we have had a fairly eventful few months. I think we should start with Artos Fenn and whether the man has been found. Lord Varys?”

Lord Varys was a slippery customer and Jon did not trust him, no more than he needed to and he knew Rhaegar felt the same. Still the eunuch had proven useful in getting information that lesser men, or perhaps men as a whole would struggle to get. “Well Your Grace, from what my birds have told me, the man left quite suddenly after visiting Lord Robb. My birds tell me that the man managed to sneak into the vaults where the treasures that the various kings of old obtained are kept, and from there he took a crown, a certain crown belonging to the Kings of Winter. This you already know, as to whether any of the men sent to find him have managed that, unfortunately they have not. They managed to track him to as far as the Twins but from there he has simply disappeared from the map. Lord Frey says he never saw anything of Fenn, nor anything of any crown and he has sent out his finest riders to scout out the area and they have reported nothing.”

The king was silent for a long moment before he asked. “And how reliable are your birds Varys? Will they have reported everything that they found to you, or would they have held things back?”

“They know which way their bread is buttered Your Grace,” the eunuch titters. “They would never dream of holding back information from me, nor me from you Your Grace. I can say with a hundred percent certainty that Fenn has disappeared, likely beyond the neck.”

“Grand Maester,” Rhaegar says. “Has there been any response from Winterfell and the northern lords as to whether they mean to accept the terms laid before them? It has been nearly a year since those initial terms were sent after all.”

Pycelle was a Lannister toady but he seemed to be shifting his loyalty back to who sat the Iron Throne now that Rhaegar sat the throne. His voice was soft when he replied. “There has been no reply as of yet from Winterfell Your Grace. At least a dozen ravens have been sent out asking for them to give a response to the terms and to come and bend the knee, and yet the ravens go unanswered or ignored. I think it is safe to say that whatever was decided at the northern council, we shall not be hearing back from Winterfell anytime soon.”

The king sighs and turns to Varys and asks. “Have your birds in the north had anything to report back to you as of yet Varys, especially since I debriefed you on what Prince Lewyn told me?”

The eunuch sighs and says. “Alas no Your Grace. My little birds in the north have not been able to gain access to the most intimate places of Winterfell and the north where the most interesting things are happening. All they have to report back to me is the mundane comings and goings of the lords and their smallfolk. We already know that something went down at Winterfell, though what it was we are not sure.”

The king sighs in frustration and says. “I cannot allow the Mormonts to gain any more influence than what they already have in the north. If there was one thing my father was right to be paranoid about, it was the fact that the Mormonts always had the Stark in Winterfell’s ear. And with Robb Stark growing up here, they might seek to name that oaf Barthogan Mormont Lord of Winterfell, if they do that than any chance at peace is truly doomed. I must know where things stand in the north and I must know soon. Before I can truly act, Varys that is your task.”

The eunuch nods and Lord Tarly, the master of laws finally speaks his tone brusque and unyielding. “Are you sure that the northmen do not mean to declare independence Your Grace? Artos Fenn has taken the crown of the old kings of winter, and there are more and more people from the north not joining the watch but helping in the rebuilding Moat Cailin and in building holdfasts in places that were previously uninhabited. That to me reeks of a place that is planning for war. Simply asking for Barthogan Mormont and the northern lords to come south to bend the knee might not work, perhaps a show of force might do the job more, to remind them why you sit the throne?”

The king sighs and asks. “What would you have me do Lord Tarly? Declare war on the north when my own forces are so badly depleted that we would likely be beaten back at the Neck and face nothing more than embarrassment and more rebellions that the throne would be able to deal with? No for now I am more than content to demand the northern lords come pay their respects peacefully, should the need arise, and I hope it does not, only then will I use force, and if that times comes I want to be able to use my full strength to show the northerners why they bowed to the dragons in the first place.”


	11. A Bear There Was, A Bear, A Bear

**Jorah Mormont**

It had been a year and a half since the battle of the trident when the rebels dream had come crashing down around them, a year and an half since Eddard Stark had been killed, slain fighting to end the Targaryen dynasty once and for all. A year and a half in which the north had been in a lot of turmoil over what to do and where to go. Some of the northern lords believed that Robb Stark, Lord Eddard’s infant son was the true lord of Winterfell and as such no matter his southern influences should be brought back to Winterfell and the north and treated as such, amongst these lords included Lord Wyman Manderly arguably the most powerful lord in the north now, and Lord Howland Reed who had been close friends with Lord Eddard. As to Jorah’s own father, well Jeor Mormont was a stubborn man and a determined one as well, and he along with Lords Umber, Bolton and Ryswell remained adamant that no Lord of Winterfell could be entirely southern in their outlook on life that they would be able to rule the north effectively especially after the rebellion, where anti southern feeling had only increased. The words the traitor Donnor Stark had uttered eight years ago had come back to haunt them all it seemed, Rickard Stark’s meddling in the south had cost his family everything, and now the north was in a shambles over what to do.

Many ravens had arrived from King’s Landing written in King Rhaegar’s own hand demanding that the northern lords come south to bend the knee to him and formally recognise his right to rule as king of Westeros, the letters also contained some not so subtle threats as to what would happen if they did not do this, or if they did not finally agree to the terms that had been sent forth to them nearly a year ago by the king. Both Jorah’s father and brother ignored these letters as did the other northern lords, and this was something that truly confused Jorah, for he knew both his father and brother, and they were not men who would easily ignore a threat be it real or implied, and it made him wonder what they were truly up to. He knew that the council that had been called by the northern lords at Winterfell had declared Barth the lord of Winterfell, but this title was still unofficial, as it was still waiting for King’s Landing’s approval, though if Jorah remembered correctly neither his father nor his brother nor any of the other northern lords had bothered to send word to king’s landing to ensure that all was okay with this move. And yet despite this obvious oversight by both his father and brother, the northern lords went about calling Barth my lord and the lord of Winterfell, acting as if Robb Stark did not even exist it was a very confusing thing for Jorah and something he truly was struggling to get his head around.

As if the gods were not done to completely confuse him, they had left him with an infant son, Rickard who looked so much like Erena that it did deeply pain him. His son was quiet for a babe or so his step mother Branda said as did his aunt Maege. And yet Jorah knew not what to do with his son, he had never expected to be a father not when after ten years of marriage Erena had had two miscarriages and many more complications. Rickard though was a healthy babe, and an inquisitive one, so much so that at times Jorah found himself so overwhelmed by his son that he had to give care of Rickard to either his step mother or aunt. It was not something he was proud of, but it was something he felt needed to be done, so that he did not do something wrong that would adversely affect his son as he grew up. Jorah had come to the conclusion that he was more of a warrior than a father, and when he saw how good Barth was with his own children, Brandon, Jeor the younger and Branda, the thought pained him deeply. Was there anything he was better than his little brother at?

As if the gods were not done tormenting him, as the doors to the great hall of Winterfell opened once more, and the herald announced Artos Fenn the emissary Jorah’s father had sent south to check on Lord Robb  entered the hall, Jorah could not help thinking that something was about to happen. “My lords,” Artos Fenn said bowing before them all and then looking at the throne where Barth sat. “I have returned from King’s Landing at long last. I did as I was asked and checked on young lord Robb, the lad is doing well and is healthy for a babe growing up in Targaryen care. I also managed to learn some more of what is happening in King’s Landing, but I suppose that is for another time. For now though, may I present an item that we all thought long lost.” Fenn paused for a moment and then nodded to a man who had come in with him, who gave him a crown, with nine bronze swords on it. “My lords,” Fenn said delight in his tone. “May I present the crown of the kings of Winter, last worn by Torrhen Stark.”

A huge murmur rocks the hall and Roose Bolton asks. “How did you come to get this crown Lord Fenn? After all none has known where the crown was kept for centuries how did you suddenly come to know of its location and when would be the right time to take the crown?”

Fenn smiles and says. “I was speaking to the Grand Maester, and the man is old and dopey, he began speaking of the vault where the Targaryens keep all their valued treasures, as if seeking to intimidate me, and I asked him where this vault was, and the old fool told me it was beneath the Maiden Vault. I managed to break away from the Maester and Martell and the others whilst they were all busy preparing for something or the other and managed to break into the vault and there in the middle was where I found the crown, as if the old gods themselves had put it there for me to find.”

There is more murmuring and then Lord Umber, never one to shy away from voicing his thoughts asks. “Now what is there for us to do, except to crown a king of the north. The dragons have proven just how unjust they are, and Robb Stark might be Eddard’s son, but I would rather cut out my own eyes than serve a southern puppet. There is only one course left for us that I can see and that is to crown a king, like in the days of old. We have essentially been ruling ourselves since the dragons came, why not give the Lord of Winterfell a kingship as well as the right to be king in his own right, why bend to a bunch of southern hissies?”

Silence and then Lord Rickard Karstark asks. “What you suggest is treason of the highest order Lord Umber, and it will also invite another war upon us, that we might not be able to win. We lost the last time we tried to face off against the Targaryens, what is to say we shall not do the same once more?”

Lord Umber snorts then and says. “The kings of the north in ages past used to throw back hosts ten times the size of whatever host the Targaryen spawn in the south could ever think to muster. We shall do the same, and this time we do not have any of these southerners trying to dictate to us what to do and what not to do, we can do as we wish with regards to defending our own home. Unless of course you wish for the dragons to take what they want without ever caring what you think Lord Karstark?”

Karstark bristles at that and says. “I too lost family in the south and lost much to the Targaryens Lord Umber. I do not need to be reminded about what will happen should the Targaryens get the clear run of the north as the dragon king clearly hopes for. Nor have I forgotten what happened to my namesake and Lord Brandon and Lady Lyanna. I was merely pointing out what to expect should we go down this road. It will not be easy or straight forward, but if the north is to stand together and show the dragons we mean business then we must go forward and stand together.”

Jorah has watched this exchange with a lot of confusion and growing resentment, it is clear that his father has been planning something for a very long time, and the fact that he was not included in the planning makes him feel insignificant and untrusted he is not sure which hurts him more. Lord Bolton speaks again his voice deadly soft. “We have the crown of winter, and we all know that Lord Barth would make a more than capable Lord of Winterfell, my lords. Hear me, we can bend to the dragons and accept Robb Stark as our lord, and when the boy comes north in fifteen years time, we shall be overrun by those pious idiots in the south and our way of life will be threatened and there will be war once more. Do you want your sons and daughters, and grandsons and granddaughters being raised to believe in those false seven idols, or do you want to know that the future of the north is safe and secure and the old gods will be the only gods that we need ever pray to, and that a northman is the only person we need ever bow to? If so then join me in naming Barthogan Mormont Lord of Winterfell and King of the north.” With that Roose Bolton comes to the steps of the winter throne and bends the knee and lays his sword at his feet.

He is soon joined by Lords Karstark, Umber, Ryswell, Dustin, Manderly, Reed, Wull, Flint, Locke and many others. The last of whom is Jorah’s own father Jeor, who bends the knee and lays Longclaw in front of Barth’s feet and says in a great booming voice. “From this day until my last, and till the end of time I do hereby pledge my family to yours, and swear by the old gods, by  the breeze of the north and the snows of home, that we shall always be your men and women and people. And that we do our best to defend your realm. Your Grace.” The word is echoed by everyone in the hall including Jorah.

Later once the din that comes from Barth being declared king in the north and lord of Winterfell, Jorah looks at his father and brother speaking and he knows that they had planned this all out already everything down to the last detail, and when he sees his father leaving the hall Jorah follows him calling out to stop him. “Father,” he says. Jeor Mormont looks at his son his eyebrows raised in question. “How long have you been planning that for? That little show in the throne room?”

His father looks at him and as always gives him a blunt answer. “Ever since Lord Eddard died at the Trident myself and your brother have been planning this. The north will never bend the knee to the Iron Throne again nor shall we accept a southern puppet as our overlord.”

“And why was I kept in the dark about this? I am your eldest son and heir, I should have been told about this plan. I could have done my bit to help make sure all went smoothly. Instead I feel as if I am no better than a common lord, and not brother to the king.” Jorah fumed.

His father looks at him then and his voice is very stern when he replies. “I did what I had to make sure that my promise to Lord Edwyle was kept and maintained. I was not going to risk failing in that just so you could feel more important or fulfilled. You are not a child Jorah, now go and do your duty to your house and your king.”


	12. Back To The River

**Lady Catelyn Connington**

There were times when Catelyn Connington nee Tully would wonder what her life would have been like in Winterfell had either Brandon or Eddard Stark survived the Targaryens. It was a thought process that often made her feel very guilty, after all she was wedded and bedded to another man and had had this other man’s child, and yet the thought of it all still was there. She supposed it was normal though, after all from the age of twelve her whole existence had been devoted to two things making sure her family was okay after her mother’s death and learning more about her future home in the north in order to make sure she could be the best possible Lady of Winterfell. When Brandon had been killed by the mad king, Catelyn had mourned him more for what could have been than for any proper affection for her betrothed, oh Brandon had been charming enough but there were certain parts of him that Catelyn had never truly liked or enjoyed. When she had wed his brother Eddard, she had thought that perhaps she might have a chance at the life she had been dreaming of ever since she had been a little girl, and when she had quickened with child she had come to be very fond of her husband and had come to want their life together, and then Eddard had died on the banks of the Trident leading a charge against the Targaryens following his friend’s death and her dream had come to an end. She had given birth to Robb in Riverrun and shortly afterwards had been instructed to come to king’s landing where both she and her son had lived for nearly five moons before her marriage to Jon Connington the hand of the king and lord of Griffin’s Roost.

Her husband was a good man, kind and caring but he was distant that much Catelyn knew. He spent much of his time in the capital helping to run the realm effectively and dealing with all the chaos that had come from the king’s actions. The times when her husband had deigned to come back home were usually spent doing their best to sire an heir for Griffin’s Roost and then once Alyn had been born it became a case of trying to get a spare. Initially the king had wanted Robb, her boy, her sweet little boy, to grow up in King’s Landing away from her but when Catelyn had expressed her concern at the notion, her husband had gone to the king and told him that Robb would be raised in Griffin’s Roost until he was eight and then from there would foster in King’s Landing. It was something that had helped ease Catelyn, and had made her more inclined to trust her husband and his judgement. Robb was the lord of Winterfell in name but her son was nothing more than a babe, a highly inquisitive babe and a very active one, he was a lad who often gave her a lot of trouble but was so sweet in how he went about doing it that Catelyn often had no trouble in forgiving him. Her son with Jon Connington, Alyn on the other hand was a very quiet child, he barely cried and at times Catelyn worried about what that would mean for him in the future, both her babes had fiery auburn hair and blue eyes and looked nothing like their respective fathers but Catelyn knew they would do them both proud.

As to the rest of her husband’s family, well Catelyn was not sure how she felt about them. Her husband’s cousin Ronald was a fierce man, a warrior through and through who was dedicated to Jon, as dedicated to Jon as Jon was to the king and such devotion often meant that Catelyn found herself at loggerheads with the man as she tried to run the household in the way she thought best and the man continued to try and undermine her. Eventually they had come to an understanding though their relationship was still strained. As to the man’s son, Ronnet Connington, the boy was quiet and shy, though Catelyn knew that soon enough he too would be like his father, it seemed her husband’s family always produced fiery characters.

As wife of the hand of the king, Catelyn often found herself interact with the lords and ladies of the Stormlands and with those at court in King’s Landing. Those in the Stormlands were kind to her and made sure to make her feel welcome, Lord Richard Lonmouth and Lord Andros Boiling especially. Both men were jovial fellows, but both had done more for her than her husband’s own family to make sure that she knew where to turn to should she have a pressing question about something or the other. At court, the women treated her like she carried some sort of disease, something that became more apparent whenever she was with her babe Robb, and other times they swarmed around her like she was the sun, desperate to gain her favour so that their own children could have more advanced positions in life than what their husbands had at present. It was a game that Catelyn knew from her time as the acting lady of Riverrun following her mother’s death. It was sometimes frustrating and sometimes rewarding for she learnt many interesting things that she often used to help her husband at court with the various lords who sought to gain his favour as well as that of the king.

Her husband had come back from King’s Landing two days ago, thoroughly tired and exhausted. It was clear that he had been working himself to the bone trying to find some way of pacifying her son’s bannermen in the north, who had grown very reluctant to bend to the iron throne, and there was apparently a risk of another war breaking out. Catelyn knew that the iron islands were also seemingly thinking about rebelling and that was another matter her husband had had to deal with, and looking at him now as he sat across from her in his solar, she knew that it was beginning to exhaust him, though he would never admit it aloud, if she had to guess she would say that the king had failed to live up to his expectations on these matters once more. Her husband’s voice pulled her away from her thoughts. “Your brother asked for you again my lady. I told him that at some point I would make sure he could come and visit you. The king has been acting most oddly recently when it comes to the heirs of his lord paramounts, it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to let them leave the city not even to go to Dragonstone, nor is he willing to let Prince Viserys to come to court either.”

“Perhaps he is simply worried about what could happen should he allow them to go away to Dragonstone, after all the ladies at court seemed convinced that the king’s mother Queen Dowager Rhaella is planning something behind her son’s back. They are hearing whispers from various sources close to the Queen herself that seem to suggest such things. But if the north is acting up again, Rhaegar will want Robb to use as rallying figures will he not? He is not planning on going to war now is he? The kingdoms have just recovered from the rebellion, surely he cannot think that they can put up with the strain of yet another war?”

Her husband looks at her then, and sighs. “The King does not want to go to war, he knows just how damaging it could be to the kingdoms and the peace we are working so hard to achieve here. But he may have no choice, Artos Fenn took the crown of winter from the vaults, and Barthogan Mormont wields Ice. The northern lords called a council with which they were to decide who the new lord of the north should be and the eunuch’s little birds say that they have confirmed Barthogan Mormont as the lord of Winterfell using his mother’s claim as their justification.”

Catelyn bristled with indignation then. “But Robb is by the laws of gods and men the true and rightful lord of Winterfell, and the king’s son Prince Aemon is heir after him. The northmen can bristle all they want at being ruled by my son, but surely if they have any honour at all, the honour Lord Eddard said they had they would stand by my son and welcome him into the north when his time comes, and if they had any doubts about his loyalty to them, then surely they would take steps to make sure he could be educated in their ways. As would I and the king I am sure.”

Her husband looks at her then and says. “In an ideal world that is what would happen. But the war cost the north a lot of things, their feeling of freedom from the hostility that the Targaryens have had over the last few decades and their adult Starks. Were Robb older and able to foster in the north I am sure they would have had no problems with him being their lord and overlord. But as he is but a babe and will be growing up in King’s Landing and here, I suppose they fear that he will be too southern for them to like and stomach. As such they seem according to Varys’ little birds more willing to break from 8,000 years of tradition and appoint a new ruling family. Barthogan Mormont has been confirmed as their Lord of Winterfell, and they have crowned him king in the north.”

The words wash over Catelyn and for a long moment she sits there in a stunned silence, her son’s bannermen have abandoned him completely with this one move, and the image she had of the north has been shattered. “So they have abandoned my son the last of an ancient bloodline that has ruled them for 8,000 years for what? For their pride, and for some savage bear from an island filled with nothing but barbarians and savages? Where did their honour go? Surely they feel it would be better for Robb to grow up safe and sound then constantly worrying about his safety which would happen in the north. Why would they do this now? And what does the king plan on doing?”

Her husband runs a hand through his hair and sighing says. “Rhaegar does not know what to do. He cannot let this treason go unpunished but our armies are not fully recovered yet to allow for a full on assault of the north. Instead he has to rely on those within the north who remember what their vows and oaths to the Starks meant and know what true loyalty is. Mainly Lord Manderly and Lord Karstark, both men have expressed their doubts about the northern independence and as such Rhaegar is hoping they can cause enough dissension within the north that by the time we are ready to march for war, that the northern lords will be clamouring to have a Stark back in Winterfell.”

She knows from what both Brandon and Eddard told her that Lord Manderly is one of the most loyal bannermen the Starks have ever had, and as such she feels confident that he will do what needs to be done to see her son back in his rightful place as to the others she is not sure. “How does the king know that Manderly might not change his tune though for the right price, the man spent a great deal of time learning the art of playing the game of thrones, and now that the north is a kingdom in its own right he might try and get the best deal for his house. I know the Manderlys have always been staunchly loyal to the Starks but how do we know he won’t abandon my son as well?”

Her husband looks at her then and his expression is fierce and passionate. “Because we have given Manderly incentive to remain loyal and if he knows what is good for him he will remain true to the bitter end.”


	13. Wastelands

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**Queen Lyarra Mormont**

It was a strange feeling being queen; it was something that Lyarra had never truly thought would ever happen. Oh sure enough she knew that her father had once thought that something might have happened to the Starks when he had arranged her marriage to Barth, but even her father would never have thought that the rebellion would have happened or that so many of Rickard Stark’s sons would have died, and that the man’s grandson would have been held hostage in the south to the whims of a Targaryen. Lyarra knew that the northern lords, her brother included were fiercely against having to bend the knee to the Targaryens again, she knew that many in the north had always resented having to bend the knee to southerners with their fancy ideals and heaven gods, and that they wished for the days when they could roam freely throughout the north without having to worry about some southern law prohibiting from doing what it was that northmen had been doing for 8,000 years before the dragons had come. She had known her husband shared similar sentiments, but she had never truly thought that he would have harboured ambitions of becoming king.

Her husband was a great warrior, a great husband and great father that much Lyarra knew, she would never have thought there lurked ambition to become king deep down inside of him. When her husband had told her the day that he was proclaimed king of the north, she had been surprised and somewhat hurt that he had not seen fit to share his plans with her. They told each other everything and were each other’s most trusted confidants and yet something as big as this he had kept from her. When they had placed a crown atop her head as well, a smaller crown to that worn by her husband, she had been somewhat bitter about the whole thing, hurt her husband had not seen fit share this dream with her his wife, and his soul mate. But she had quickly gotten over it, due to the fact that she also discovered that her husband had been under orders from his father not tell a soul and as such he had not even told Maege or Melantha and he told those two almost everything. Now almost a year after being queen of the north, and helping her husband rule the north she had come to find that she quite liked being queen.

It was a change from being simply a lady of the second in line to Bear Island, Lyarra had never been one to indulge in the air headedness of those southern twits, with their stories of songs and all this other nonsense, Lyarra had grown up in Last Hearth where the fear of being taken by a wildling raider was so strong you learned how to defend yourself and think with your mind and on your feet or you died. Though she would admit that being Queen did come with some benefits, it was nice not having to constantly worry about certain things such as the state of her dress or whether her clothes matched the mood of the court now, considering that there were people that had been brought into help her with that. Being queen also meant that more and more ladies came to her with the gossip of the north trying to win her favour, and as such she was able to use this information in the only way she knew how, by using it to give her husband ideas about who could be trusted and such. It was through one such channel that she had suggested that her goodsister Melantha wed Theo Wull, a good and honest man and a man who seemed to make her goodsister happy and that was all that mattered especially after the brute her Templeton husband had been.

As to her own family well things could not have been happier. Her husband was a good, kind and caring man, someone she loved dearly and someone she knew how to communicate with at a level that made it easier for them both to understand one another, there was none of this other nonsense that she saw with some of the other northern lords and ladies and certainly none of the stiffness that came from being a southerner. Her children were growing up to be happy and safe, her eldest Brandon was a fierce lad, nine years of age and always inquisitive, though he was becoming quite quiet, something that Barth said he too had been at that age. Their second son Jeor had just turned seven and was a very adventurous person, exploring everything and asking questions of everything, he was quite a handful. As was her daughter Branda, who had turned three some two moons ago, she was always chasing after Jeor and Brandon and whatever games they played it was quite amusing and frustrating at the same time. As to their two new additions to the family, Torrhen and Maege, well they were twins and peaceful babes thank the gods, though she knew not how many more children she could give her husband, the twins births had been a strain on her, but she knew she wanted to give her husband more she truly did.

Her brother Jon had also finally settled down it seemed and had decided to keep to his wife’s bed at last. Her brother had wed Robyn Norrey some eight years ago and they had had a son named Jon as well or affectionately known as the Smalljon, though the lad would likely be taller than his father. Her husband though had never been a truly patient man and had never truly been able to stand still for longer than a moment embodying their sigil quite well, and as such he seemed to have taken a fancy to whatever caught his eye, and as such he had perhaps three or four bastards roaming around the northern part of her husband’s kingdom and elsewhere both from before his marriage to Robyn and afterward. One of them a boy named Cregan was fostering at Winterfell and was good friends with Jeor being the same age her second son she was not surprised. But the birth of Lyarra’s niece Myriame had seemingly ended her brother’s extracurricular activities once and for all, her brother was a man who liked to seem tough and macho, but she knew deep down that he was a big softy and that the birth of his daughter had shown him the true nature of their sigil.

The sound of the doors to her room opening and her husband walking through them sighing took her from her thoughts. Her husband had been at council today discussing things with his father and the other advisors he had, and she could see it had been a stressful day for him. He sat down on the bed and she got up and sat next to him. “How was council today my love?” she asked him, taking his hand and running her fingers through it in a soothing way.

“Frustrating,” her husband said sighing. “There are some days where I just want to strangle them all and throw them all out of here and tell them to leave us all alone. For being so adamant about being independent they truly do not know what they want now that we have our freedom. It’s as if they simply thought of something that was good and then decided to go with it and are only now thinking about what their actions have caused.”

“How do you mean my love?” she asked. “Does your father not lead the discussions anymore?”

Her husband sighed and said. “He does, it’s not that. It’s the fact that men like Roose Bolton and Rodrik Ryswell who were so adamant on northern independence, now cannot agree over simple things that will make all of our lives so much easier when war comes.”

“Such as?”Lyarra asked.

Her husband sighs once more and says. “Things like trade, the town on the Stony Shore is seeing more trade with the Iron Islands and with the Westerlands, but they both disagree over whether or not having a fleet there would be beneficial. It will be and yet Ryswell does not want more money to be sent there when it could be used to rebuild the Kingsroad or make more land fortresses along the way in the north. Bolton knows that there is sense in what Ryswell says and yet he says that the southerners will invade by sea, for the Moat is near unbreakable and yet still he does not say whether spending more money on having our fleet built would be a good idea.”

“And what do you think my love?” she asks.

Her husband turns and looks at her and says. “Well the Moat’s three remaining towers are nearly completely rebuilt and stronger now, there will only need another two moons before we can move the Cassels there. So we need not worry about having more fortresses in the north towards the neck, but having more holdfasts to house the Winter Wolves and the Black Bears is necessary and is something that I have said needed to be done. As to the ships, we need a fleet, we have not had ships since Brandon the Burner and that is not acceptable, we remain weak so long as the enemy remains stronger than us. Ryswell is simply saying what he is saying because he fears losing the higher prices he can charge for having the trade brought down the river. He is not thinking for the wider picture.”

“So go with your gut then my love.” Lyarra says. “You are the king, say the words and they will obey you. You have earnt their loyalty through your good leadership this past year and through your skills as a warrior. Tell them what you want done and they shall do it.”

Her husband looks at her and Lyarra can see the pain and frustration there she puts her hand to his cheek and her husband says. “I don’t know if I can do this my love. I am a warrior, I was never meant to be a lord nor was I meant to be a king. All I know how to do is fight and read, I don’t know the first thing about politics nor do I know how to play this damnable game that my father and lord Bolton constantly engage in. I worry that I might not be enough to hold the north together against Rhaegar Targaryen and his need to see Robb Stark sit the winter throne.”

“You have done well so far my love.” Lyarra says. “If you were not a good king, then war would have broken out much sooner. Rhaegar Targaryen is scared of you and I know that the northern lords respect you, my brother does and that is saying something. You have their respect and their loyalty. If you didn’t no amount of work from your father or Lord Bolton could prevent the north from rebelling and from having Rhaegar Targaryen sending his biggest force possible to take the north again.”

“Aye, well it seems the man means to try anyway.” Her husband says.

That stops Lyarra in her tracks and she looks at him wondering what he means. “What do you mean my love, has there been word from the neck?”

“More than just word my love,” her husband. “Lord Howland has sent word that Walder Frey has been mustering men and one of the men he captured said that these men were marching for Riverrun under the guise of some sort of delegation. Furthermore there were skirmishes on Sea Dragon Point between men who supposedly got lost coming from the Westerlands and the Black Bears. Rhaegar Targaryen is preparing for war and so must we. Sooner or later we shall face an attack and war will come and with it winter will reign once more.”


	14. Our Blades Are Sharp

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**Lord Roose Bolton**

An independent north that was something Roose had dreamed of ever since he had been a little boy growing up in the Dreadfort learning about the histories of the north and of his house. It was something that as a true believer of the old gods, he had truly believed needed to be done in order for the north to reach the glories it had had during the years before the conquest and the strength and fear that it had commanded from the other kingdoms, when there had been seven kingdoms. As far as Roose had been concerned under the iron throne, the north had become cowed and bent, unable to do anything that by rights they should have been able to do without fear of repercussion, and now with the north free once more they were able to do what they wished so long as it remained true to northern right and heritage.

As far as Roose was concerned not having to pay taxes to the Iron Throne had made his house much wealthier almost more wealthy than House Manderly, after all the Dreadfort had control over some very rich and fertile lands, and with Lord Halys Hornwood being a cousin of his, they were working together to make sure that their part of the north benefitted the most from King Barthogan’s new laws and measures, something that Roose had not been wanting to insist on but something that he was now glad the man’s father had insisted on implementing. Furthermore under King Barthogan, the power and influence that Roose’s house now had was growing many fold, under House Stark House Bolton had been cowed and bent, and had been the slavering dog trying so hard to gain acceptance for their reformed ways and their conformity, House Stark had spat on House Bolton and now House Stark was gone and House Mormont the new royal house were more than happy to take in what advice Roose had to give as well as to allow them free reign with their own methods of questioning. Things that had all come in useful when spies had been captured and the use of flaying had ensured that they had learnt where the spies had come from, it seemed the spider was trying to weave his way into the north, and Roose had made sure the man had failed.

This newfound influence that Roose had at the northern court had also reflected itself into his family, his son and heir Domeric was now betrothed to Princess Branda Stark, a match that high steward Lord Jeor Mormont had arranged and one that the king had agreed to. That match would give Roose a claim to Winterfell but would also mean that his grandchildren would have royal blood something that he had always wanted for his children for it meant that they would be able to advance further in life than their predecessors. As for his family in truth, well Roose could find no fault with them, he had been wed before to one Robyn Dustin, a sweet woman but frail, so very frail, his first wife had died during the long harsh winter that had come in the twilight years of King Aegon the Unlikely’s reign, she had been unable to carry a babe to term and as such Roose had had no heir when his first wife had died. His cousin Bennard had had two children shortly after Robyn’s death and so they had served as Roose’s heirs until roughly three years ago when his son Domeric had been born. His second wife, Bethany was a sweet lady as well but she had that Ryswell fire to her, a fire that her sister Barbrey was well known to have. He and his wife spoke on many things but there was little more than affection and friendship there, he knew his wife craved love, and Roose knew that he was unable to give her any of it. Their son Domeric was the true mortar that held them together with his unbridled energy and inquisitiveness, their son would grow up to make a good lord and husband one day Roose knew, a man who would be able to make jokes and jest about things that Roose had never been able to because of the reputation of their family and the fact that Roose had forgotten how to laugh so many years ago.

 As to the council that helped the king rule from Winterfell it was an interesting one, there were no defined positions apart from that of High Steward for the king’s father Lord Jeor Mormont who was a great bear of a man who had a head for the game of politics and intrigues, then there was the High Constable who was in charge of all the current standing forces that the king had ordered to be raised so as to serve as a quick response team to any threat that man was Jorah Mormont the king’s own brother. As to the rest, there was the man who served as the prime advisor on the council maester Luwin a man new to his job in Winterfell but a man who knew what he was about. Then there was Lord Rodrik Ryswell Roose’s goodfather and a man who knew how to play the game as well, though his bluntness and stubbornness on some issues often hindered how far he could advance his own house. Then there was the most experienced seaman in the north Ser Jeffrey Snow a man whose father was rumoured to have been the mighty Edwyle Stark himself, the man knew his way around a ship like most men knew their ways around their own home and hearth he had advised the king on the building of the northern fleet and such. Finally there was Roose who served as Lord Treasurer, handling the accounts and making sure all the north’s expenses were lower than their intake. The king himself whilst being a very good warrior and a good administrator with a good head on his shoulders, was someone who was sorely lacking in the intrigue department a true Mormont through and through then, and it was something that Roose hoped would improve with time. As such a war council had been convened at Winterfell, there had been suspicious movements around in the lands south of the neck and the king was deciding what this could mean. The king spoke in that deep voice of his to begin things. “I thank you all for coming my lords. As you know things between us and the south have been tense ever since the rebellion ended and Lord Eddard was slain on the Trident. That his sister’s body was not returned to us and the fact that Robb Stark is being kept a hostage in the south to be tainted by the Andals, has made things even worse between us. My crowning would have simply aggravated the issue for that pompous asshole Rhaegar Targaryen, and as such I do have reason to believe that war is approaching. I would hear your views on what we should do before someone gets hurt.”

There was silence for a moment and then Lord Jon Umber known as the Greatjon spoke first. “I say we take the attack to the southerners. Why should we let them make the first move and harm our people when we can march south and send a clear message to them straight away that we shall not be tested by any dragon scum ever again? Why should we let them have all the fun?”

There was some murmuring at that but then Lord Jeor Mormont spoke up his voice gruff. “What you say sounds like a man hungry for war Lord Umber, whilst I might have been able to understand that had it been wildlings we had been about to deal with, with this I am afraid I cannot understand why you would wish to bring war and destruction down on anyone when the need is not great. Rhaegar Targaryen as far as our sources in the south can gather lacks the support necessary for a full scale invasion of the north and yet if he does nothing he will look weak before his lords. As such we need merely wait for the fool to try and attack the Moat and bleed him dry there, invading the south will make us look bad and foolish.”

Lord Umber’s voice was laced with disgust when he replied. “So you would let that filth walk into our territory and begin burning and plundering as he pleased? I would not stand behind that neither decision nor I am certain would anyone else here. Moat Cailin might have been rebuilt and there might be more men manning it then there have been in three hundred years but I sincerely doubt that against the southerners it will be able to stand. Besides there are some more southernly inclined lords who have deigned not to join us who could switch sides should they so choose.”

Lord Willam Dustin a smart man and a very good warrior speaks then. “What Lord Jeor says make sense Jon, you know that as much as everyone else here does. We cannot invade the south without due cause, and just because there are some tensions with us and King’s Landing does not give us the right to call our banners and send our men off to die. We must make it so that Rhaegar Targaryen makes the first move and plays his hand first before we do, only then can we make absolutely that the gods are behind us and that we are right in fighting for what we believe in.”

Lord Ryswell spoke then voicing his agreement for his other goodson. “Aye, what Lord Willam says makes a lot of sense. The old gods will decide when we should invade and we should take the lead from there, anything else would make less sense for though we might have the right of it all, Rhaegar Targaryen has superior forces at his disposal and we cannot hope to challenge him in the south. Best wait for him to come north and bleed a little before we bleed him completely.”

The king had been silent up until then and then he finally spoke and his voice was deep and filled with conviction. “So it seems that you are all suggesting that we remain here behind our walls and castles waiting for the dragon to come burning down on us. Whilst I do not like that suggestion anymore than Lord Umber does, I can see the sense in it after all, we know that the Targaryens have no dragons anymore, and as such they won’t be able to circumvent the north without finding their path blocked by the cranongmen and Lord Howland has promised me that the cranongmen shall bleed them every step of the way. As to those lords with more southern influences, should they step out of line in this coming conflict, I shall show them the true might of winter. They will not cross us, not now, not when they need us more than we need them.”

The king was about to say more when there was a knock on the door and Maester Luwin walked in. “Begging your pardons my lords, Your Grace. But there has been a raven from White Harbour and I thought you should see it, it appears most urgent.”

The king nodded and took the letter and his face went pale as he read the words on the page. He looked up and said. “White Harbour has been sacked by men led by Lord Jon Connington, they found a way into the city.”


	15. Buried Alive

**Ser Arthur Dayne**

It had been three years since the rebellion had ended, three years in which Arthur had dealt with many things, a lack of confidence immediately after the rebellion, in which he had had to deal with the knowledge that not only had he failed in upholding his vows as a knight and a member of the Kingsguard, but he had also failed Elia and the people of Dorne, his people. The looks he had gotten from his fellow countrymen, Elia’s father who at one point might have been his goodfather, Lord Mors Jordayne had been particularly venomous and they had cut to the bone. The fact that his brother Eltor and his sister Ashara were still willing to speak with him let alone be seen in public with him, completely surprised him and made him feel all the more grateful for their support, without them he was not sure what he would have done or been able to do. Elia herself had not once voiced her views on his part in the abduction of Lyanna Stark, not once in the past three years she had simply accepted him back into her life, although she often restricted what he did and did not know and Ashara never truly told him the truth of the matter.

He supposed in the end he had deserved that, he had abandoned Elia and her children to the whims of the mad king as Aerys was being known as, he had left Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys to the man’s whims as well, all because of his vows as a knight of the Kingsguard, when if he had been a true knight if any of his sworn brothers had been true knights they would have cut Aerys down there and then and placed the crown on Rhaegar’s head, and then when Rhaegar looked like he was going down the road of his father’s, had Arthur been a true friend he would have made it so that Rhaegar could not do something so stupid as he had done. But alas Arthur was not a strong man, or at least he had not been three years ago, but now he had distanced himself from Rhaegar and spent more time with Elia and her part of the court, he wanted to make amends for what he had done, and yet Rhaegar still told him all about his plans and dreams for the future and some of them deeply unnerved Arthur.

His friend had been disappointed by the birth of Prince Aemon, the boy whose conception and birth had caused the seven kingdoms to bleed. His friend had been determined to have a Visenya to complete his three heads, and had done all he could think of to make that happen, and yet when Arthur had presented his friend’s son to him, Rhaegar had looked at the babe and simply handed the child back to Arthur. Such a cold reaction had shocked Arthur, his friend was many things but cold was not one of them, and yet here he was not doing anything to get to know his second son, the one whose birth had cost many lives. When Prince Aemon had turned three some two moons ago, Rhaegar had sent him off to Dragonstone to live with his mother Queen Dowager Rhaella and her two younger children Prince Viserys and Princess Daenaerys telling Arthur. “All I see when I look at Aemon is the woman whose life ended bringing him into the world. How can I look at my son when I know what it cost his mother to bring him into the world?”

As to the rest of the prophecy it seemed Rhaegar was still determined to get his third head, a Visenya for his Aegon and Rhaenys, two children who were growing up only knowing the tension between their parents, and not the mutual respect and admiration there had been before the war. As such Rhaegar seemed to have paid court to a various amount of noblewomen. Amongst them were Lady Jana Tyrell, Lady Bethany Redwyne and Cersei Lannister. Arthur remembers when it had seemed very likely that Cersei Lannister would become Queen; it was no secret that that was what Tywin Lannister and the Lannisters had dreamed of since the man became Aerys hand at the start of the mad king’s reign. Arthur knew from the whispers of the court that Tywin Lannister would settle for nothing less than having his grandchild of his sit the iron throne and as such, Arthur knew that Aegon and Aemon were in grave danger, and everytime he brought this up with Rhaegar his friend would brush him off and say that Lord Lannister would not dream of doing something like that, not when his own reputation amongst the court and the king was so thin. It was as if his friend had not heard the rains of Castamere, nor of other countless other actions that Tywin Lannister had committed in furthering his own agenda.

Of course now the war with the north, the war everyone had been waiting for was now finally here. It unnerved Arthur had just how strong anti-northern sentiment was in court and amongst the other southern nobility. Those that had answered Rhaegar’s call to arms seemed to view this as something of a holy war, a way in which to convert the last heathen kingdom of Westeros to the ways of the faith. Something that none had been able to do, not the first Andal invaders and certainly not the conqueror. The High Septon had taken to preaching for the war to be a holy one, and it seemed Rhaegar was quite happy to allow this to continue. A force of some 40,000 men made up of men from the crownlands and the Stormlands had been sent north to White Harbour on the royal fleet under the command of the Hand of the King Lord Jon Connington. And Rhaegar had mustered another force of men from the riverlands, the Vale and the Westerlands that would march the Kingsroad path into the north. Arthur was part of this force that also had two of his fellow sworn brothers Ser Gerold Hightower the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Prince Lewyn Martell. Ser Gerold was currently in a war council with the king, though he would come back and report on the matters when the time came.

As such when the tent flap where both Arthur and Lewyn were opened they both looked up to see a rather tired looking Ser Gerold enter the tent. He sat down in a chair and then said. “We are to march at first light tomorrow. The King wishes to catch the bog devils unawares and as such Arthur you shall be leading the viper regiment in full thrust.”

Arthur perks up at that and asks. “And when does he wish for us to leave for the first movement? The bog devils will be expecting something, and we do not know all about the entrances. Surely a slight assault with the cavalry would be better to run down the bog devils?”

Ser Gerold sighs and says. “The king says that he believes that the thrust will break through their rank and file and make it easier for the rest of the army to take the Moat and then march from there.”

Prince Lewyn snorts and says. “And once more the king sees fit to sacrifice the Dornishmen to feed his obsession with the north. Will he never learn? We cannot take the Moat that way they will be expecting something like that, and we shall bleed out on the swamps, our horses will be swallowed up in the mud and the bogs. I stand by the point that we should have sailed from Lannisport and landed on the Stony Shore.”

Ser Gerold sighs and runs a hand through his hair saying. “Aye, perhaps we should have done that but the king has decreed that we are to do a land invasion and do what the Andal invaders could not do and bring the north down through that way. There was also news from Lord Connington about the battles in the White Harbour area.”

At this both Arthur and Lewyn perk up. “What news?” Lewyn asks.

“The city was sacked, completely and utterly sacked as were Ramsgate and Oldcastle, Lord Wyman Manderly was taken captive and his son Wylis was killed trying to hold the walls. Ser Wendel Manderly surrendered the city to Jon Connington in exchange for the lives of his father and nieces. Barthogan Mormont is marching on the city as we speak with some 10,000 men and sooner or later we shall have to face the man in open combat. That is why the king is so eager to bring down the Moat, does that and the north shall shake.” Ser Gerold responded.

After that their conversations ended and as the sun was rising the next day, Arthur was dressed and armoured Dawn glinted in the sunlight, he mounted his horse and rode to where the Vipers, the regiment that was made up of some 5,000 Dornish spearmen and archers was gathered. They were clad in brown and green to disguise themselves in the marsh. Arthur though wore his white Kingsguard armour. He stopped his horse and looked at them and then said. “Today we march to fight a foe that will know the land better than us, and will know how to do things that we could only dream of. The king expects us to pave the way for the rest of the forces, so that we can give them an easier time of it when it comes down to breaking the northmen. We shall do that, and we shall make sure that when we are done the Northmen know how strong Dorne is!”

A roar goes up and soon enough they are marching towards the beginning of the neck and the north. They wait and then a horn is sounded and the battle begins. Arthur leads the charge, and through the arrows and the spears being thrown he hears the sounds of battle going, he swings his sword left, right and centre, cutting through the small bog devils like they are sacks of meet, their camps were quite clearly scattered throughout the neck and yet still the cranongmen let them come through. The thoughts stop and the fighting continues, swinging, hacking, ducking, slashing, blocking, he takes a few blows here and there but mostly he runs through the bog devils like they are nothing. The fight progresses on and on it goes.

He continues swinging his sword left, right and centre the body count grows and his sword is covered red with blood on it goes, swinging, hacking, ducking, dodging, blocking. He takes a few blows but the fighting goes on and on and on. He cuts down a line of men in a few swings and just as the Moat came into sight he heard a huge moan come from somewhere and then there was darkness.


	16. The Hell Song

**Lord Jon Connington**

The screams of the dying still echoed in side his head at night and during the day, he can still see the blood and the bodies, the burning of buildings. Rhaegar had ordered them to take White Harbour and the lands sworn to White Harbour by any means necessary and so they had. Landing at Ramsgate they had taken that castle relatively easily, and from there men under Ser Brynden Tully of the Kingsguard had moved onto take Widow’s Watch and a force under Lord Monford Velaryon had sacked Oldcastle by sea. Jon had led the bulk of their fighting power to White Harbour where a fierce battle had ensued, still the northmen in White Harbour had been ill prepared it was quite clear that Wyman Manderly had never thought that his city would actually be under attack, and yet in order to show the north that they meant business they needed to make an example of their only city. The dishonour in the action grated on Jon but it had needed to be done and he had sworn to himself that he would not make the same mistakes that he had made during the Stoney Sept.

White Harbour had been sacked, its people slaughtered or captured and held prisoner, Lord Wyman’s son and heir Ser Wylis had been killed, by one of the men sworn to Jon’s goodfather. And so the fighting had gone on for some time until Ser Wendel Manderly the last man left in the merman’s court had had the good sense to surrender. One of the things that Jon had found surprising after having taken White Harbour was that the people did not seem to share the same sort of disdain for the south or the same northern fanaticism that he would have expected of those most loyal to the Starks. He supposed it was due to the fact that White Harbour was the one northern place that came into the most contact with the south and as such still held a fair amount of Andal influence in its own inner culture, though how much that would last following this war would be something that would need to be assessed.

There were other concerns that Jon had as well, Wynafryd Manderly, Lord Wyman’s heir was a little girl no older than five or six, and yet she had developed such a hatred to all things southern since the attack on her city. The girl had been a devout follower of the seven before the invasion according to her mother and her uncle but since had become scornful of all things relating to the south, including her septa. This was something that deeply worried Jon for it made him think that if a six year old girl could become so hateful of something that had been part of her family for generations so soon, what would happen in the rest of the north. Would they become more fanatical in their northern loyalty or their hatred of the south? It certainly made the words the high septon and the faith were sprouting seem completely fantastical and unrealistic.  

Jon can still remember the conversation he had with Lord Wyman, the man was being held prisoner in the Wolf’s Den, and as such seemed to have become quite grim during his captivity. Jon had gone to see him one day after a particularly bad court session and as such had gone to ask for advice on how to deal with the man’s bannermen and the other southern influenced lords in White Harbour. The man had laughed and his chins had all jiggled with the action. _“If you still believe that my bannermen will be willing to fight for the south now, after what has happened at Widow’s Watch, Oldcastle, Ramsgate and now here, then you truly have learnt nothing from the Stoney Sept. All your actions have done is convince those who were uncertain of whether the struggle to put Robb Stark back in Winterfell would truly be worth it, that it is not, for the boy will be a southern puppet in truth as well as in name. That is something that not even the people of my city and my bannermen want, we hate puppets here in the north my lord hand. Those who had any southern sympathies here are either dead, fled or have completely reassessed where their loyalties lie.”_

_“And what of you Lord Wyman, where do you loyalties lie?” Jon had asked._

_The Lord of White Harbour had laughed then and had said simply. “Winterfell my lord. For thousands of years House Manderly has been sworn to those who have ruled from Winterfell, and we have always made sure that they had what they needed. We are the southerners in the north my lord, and as such have always needed to provide that extra push to show that we are truly loyal to the north and we are not southern spies. The Starks took us in when we were broken and beat that is true, but the Starks are done now, Robb Stark has become that which his father and his grandfather so despised. And as such we cannot in good conscious support him. The promise must be held, and Barthogan Mormont is the Stark’s true heir.”_

_“And what would you have me do then my lord of Manderly? I have been given orders by my king. I cannot leave here without bringing down the pretender.” Jon had said._

_The man had looked at Jon then a look of sympathy on his face as he had said. “If I were you I would leave, get back on your ships and leave for King’s Landing. And never try and set foot in the north again. You will never win, and you shall all bleed to death trying to take what is not yours to take. Leave now and you might be spared more pain and suffering, otherwise the big bear will come and winter will come with him.”_

The door to the solar where Jon had taken residence opened up taking him from his thoughts, and in walked the men he had called for a war council. Lord Hoster Tully a proud man who knew what he was about, Lord Jonos Bracken a fierce fighter, Lord Eldon Estermont proud and strong, Lord Stannis Baratheon careful and calculating and Lord Borros Celtigar old and feeble but proven and experienced. They had all played their part in the taking of White Harbour and as such Jon wanted their opinion on what their next move should be. “I thank you for coming my lords. Now as you know we are facing conundrum, we hold the lands sworn to White Harbour and yet our men are being bled dry during this winter, and as such a force under Barthogan Mormont is coming fast towards the city to give battle to us. I would hear your thoughts on what we should do.”

Lord Hoster was the first one to speak in response, his goodfather as ever gave a moderate response. “We have the men to meet Barthogan Mormont in battle, but as such there is no true need to. We are sat in the most prosperous place of the north, we have enough food and equipment to survive through the last few moons of this winter. And we also have enough to withstand a siege, I highly doubt with how quickly the man called his arms together that he has enough to last through the siege that he will undoubtedly try and fix onto us.”

At the mention of a siege Jon sees Stannis Baratheon’s eyes narrow, but the man’s voice is calm when he says. “Aye a siege would make the most sense, we can hold onto the city and let Barthogan Mormont bleed himself on the walls of the city trying to make it fall. So long as we hold on for long enough we can wait for the king and his forces to come up and take Mormont from the rear.”

“That may be an issue my lords.” Lord Celtigar said speaking softly.

“An issue how do you mean it might be an issue, what has happened Celtigar?” Jon asks.

“A messenger came from the neck earlier today whilst the castle slept. He brought word from the battle fought at the Neck. The king had to beat back a hasty retreat, it appears the cranongmen used some sort of trickery to end the threat the force his grace had assembled posed. And as such there were many thousands of casualties including Ser Gerold Hightower the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Arthur Dayne is missing presumed dead, and the king has retreated back into the riverlands.”

That was very bad news, if Rhaegar was not marching up through the neck now then they were lacking in power. “How soon can we summon the strength from Oldcastle, Ramsgate and Widow’s Watch here Lord Estermont?” Jon asks.

Lord Estermont looks at his notes and then says. “It would take three weeks for the remaining strength we have in this part of the north to join us. Barthogan Mormont’s forces will be here in two days time.”

Jon sighs and says. “Would that the king had emerged triumphant through the neck, but we cannot wait for the forces from these other parts of the southern north to come. We must give battle to Barthogan Mormont and we must do it now, I will be holed up here waiting for someone to betray us. We give fight and we beat him on his own ground.”

With that the council meeting ends and they all prepare for the battle that is to come. Two days later 15,000 men ride forth from the Merman’s gate, and ride towards the south eastern bank of the White Knife where they wait for Barthogan Mormont and his host to march on them. Jon has command of the left, Hoster Tully the right, Stannis Baratheon the reserve and Ser Godry Farring the vanguard. They wait and wait and just as the sun is at its highest point, its light blinding the Mormont host arrives and the fighting begins. It is one of the fiercest fights that Jon has ever fought in more so than the battle of the bells, the northmen are rabid eager to destroy their southern enemies and Jon and his men are fighting for dear life. He swings his sword left, right and centre, cutting down men bloodying his sword, cutting through men again and again, wondering if he comes across Barthogan Mormont himself what would happen. He swings and swings, and swings, he keeps on swinging until his arms feel as if they will fall off and still he keeps on going

As it turns out he does come across Barthogan Mormont, the big bear has cut through and killed many of Jon’s comrades and friends and so their battle begins in a frenzy of swings and hacks. It is not a battle that will be sung about for years afterward, but it will be remembered. Barthogan Mormont is the fiercest warrior to have ever lived and as such Jon Connington is no match for him, for every blow Connington lands on Mormont the big bear lands five on Connington, the man pummels the lord of griffin’s roost into a pulp before, knocking his sword out of his hand and slitting his throat. Jon Connington, Hand of the King and Lord of Griffin’s Roost dies on the twelfth day of the fourth month of the 287th year after Aegon’s Landing, slain by Barthogan Mormont the King in the North. Connington’s goodfather Lord Hoster Tully leads a counter attack that helps decimate northern forces but ultimately is futile and forces the Tully and those men left alive to retreat, not to White Harbour but to Oldcastle where they are hounded by northern forces that force them to flee from the north in disgrace the campaign failed and ended.


	17. Let's Be Honest

**King Barthogan I Mormont**

It had been two years since the war with the Iron Throne had ended; Barth had seen to it that the southerners had all been driven out of White Harbour and its surrounding areas. Leading a force some 10,000 strong to attack White Harbour whilst sending men across the white knife under the command of his brother Jorah to assault the forces at Widow’s Watch. At the White Knife he had fought the host commanded by Jon Connington, and he had been the one to slay that fiery haired cur, slaying him and countless others who had dared threaten the peace of the north. The man’s host had not been routed with his death though, and Barth’s own army had nearly been broken on the right bank of the White Knife by the relentless assault it was placed under by Lord Stannis Baratheon, Hoster Tully the old fish led a counter attack but was eventually forced to retreat when reinforcements came from Barrowtown and the Rills, as well as from the Neck.

They had driven the southerners out and had taken some valuable prisoners including a boy whose sigil was three dogs who claimed to be King Rhaegar’s own squire, the boy Sandor Clegane was his name, was a strong fighter but someone whose spirit was easily broken after being given to Roose Bolton for questioning. The lad had no information to provide them, but it soon became obvious Rhaegar did not mean to attack them again, he had been shown what the north would do when challenged and for the time being an uneasy peace rested around the north and the south. Prisoners on both sides had been exchanged and ransomed and as such some sense of normality had resumed to the dealings of everyday life. Though Barth had decided that the funds from trade and from taxes would need to be put into completely rebuilding Moat Cailin, the fortress was the strongest in the north and as such needed to be a tip top shape. And so Barth had commissioned the three towers that were left standing to be fully refurbished, that had been done rather quickly and the Cassels had been given lordship over the fortress, and from there Barth had now ordered the rest of the castle rebuilt to its former glory.

The peace that had come about had also finally allowed Barth to spend some much needed quality time with his family. He and his wife had discussed perhaps having another set of children, but with time moving on and his succession relatively secure they had decided there was no need to have more children as that would likely complicate things further down the line as well as perhaps giving the Targaryens more ammo for their next attempted invasion. Lyarra, his wife, his rock was becoming more and more accustomed to the role of queen each day, she looked very regal in her finery, and she always had a solution to whatever problem Barth was faced with, truly there were times when he felt that she should be the actual ruler of the north and not him. He did not have head for politics, to him it was all one big campaign that needed to be properly organised and as such anything more than that was far too much for him to think about. As to his children, well Brandon had turned thirteen some three moons ago and with his thirteenth birthday done and dusted, Barth had decided it was time for his son and heir to be betrothed, and so he had finally achieved his dream of uniting his and his aunt Maege’s bloodlines by betrothing Brandon to her eldest daughter Dacey. Brandon seemed happy with the match, and Barth had observed his son with his betrothed, his son smiled more and was much more talkative around Dacey that he was with anyone else, they would make each other that much Barth knew. As to his second son Jeor the younger, well Jeor continued to be flamboyant and extroverted and managed to charm people with every word he said, winning hearts everywhere he went and whenever visitors came to Winterfell they always remarked on what a nice young lad he was and how promising he would be. In order to make sure that the Manderlys remembered where their loyalties lay, Barth had under instruction from his own father Jeor the elder, betrothed Jeor the younger to Wynafryd Manderly the heir to White Harbour and as such the match was doing much to help maintain the peace in the north. His daughter Branda was growing up to be a very, very beautiful young lady she reminded him so much of her mother, with her fire and her strength, though she was only seven she was very wilful and that was something Barth was happy with, these were dangerous times they were living in and the more she knew how to stick up for herself the better her life would be. As for the twins, Torrhen and Maege they were young still, too young for Barth to have identified any significant pattern in their behaviour as of yet, but they were close as twins could be and as such that was enough to make sure Barth could sleep at night.

As to his father and the family back home in Bear Island, things there seemed to be getting better. Jorah seemed happier as High Constable of the Northern army than he had been for some time, and as such seemed to be doing more to get to know his son Rickard, the boy was a good lad, inquisitive and naturally smart and would do well for himself when he grew up. Barth’s aunt Maege’s husband Alton Woolfield had died during the fighting in White Harbour, Barth had finally met the man face to face and had found him to be a good man if a touch shallow. The man had clearly made his aunt happy and it was for that reason that Barth had been sad when Alton’s corpse was presented to him. His aunt’s daughters were all as stubborn and proud as their mother and that in itself made them more dear to Barth. As to his sister Melantha, she had wed Theo Wull a year after the rebellion had ended, and as such had had three sons with the man, Eddard, Brandon and Jon all good lads though they were young still. Theo Wull was a good man who made his sister happy, and was nothing at all like that Templeton brute, the thought of that man made Barth very angry and he had so wished that he could have been the one to kill the bastard who had dared hurt his sister.

Of course that was not all he had to deal with and as of now he had a council meeting to focus on. These were things he did not truly like doing, but they were things that needed to be done, and as king they were his responsibility. And as such he looked around the solar and saw his council members, his father Jeor the elder the high steward, Lord  Roose Bolton Lord Treasurer, Lord Rodrik Ryswell the High Justiciar, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassel the chief of guards. They were his council and his most trusted advisors, he bid for quiet and then said. “I thank you for joining me my lords. It has been sometime since we last met to discuss the state of the kingdom and the state of the south, with this in mind I would hear what news there is.”

There was silence for a moment and then his father spoke, his voice gruff. “There has been some disturbances near the gift Your Grace, but Jorah has managed to deal with those disturbances and as such has reported that the mountain clans have agreed to end their quarrels for the time being. There has also been word from the Wall, it appears Lord Commander Qorgyle is very interested in getting more recruits from the south to perhaps spread the word about the situation at the wall.”

“And what precisely is the situation at the Wall? We have sent them men for the past four years, more men to allow them to reopen castles that were previously unattended. So what more does the man want?” Barth asks.

His father grimaces and says. “Lord Commander Qorgyle seems to think that just getting recruits from the north is not enough, there seems to have been a shortage of people willing to come to the wall from the south ever since you were crowned Your Grace. As such Qorgyle believes that something could be done to make the watch seem like a more appealing option if there were less stringent restrictions placed on southern travellers.”

“And what say you Lord Bolton, what would happen were we to follow through on Lord Commander Qorgyle’s suggestion and reduce the stringent restrictions on travellers from the south?” Barth asks.

Bolton was silent for a moment and then he said. “Well the only people coming from the south in recent years have been rapers, thieves and the despots of southern society Your Grace. Such people even if they stay in the north proper for a brief period of time could do more damage to your people than the nobles could. It is also possible that they could be used to spy for Rhaegar Targaryen and report back to those in their escort of what they see. It would be better if you simply tell Lord Commander Qorgyle that the restrictions will not be lifted and that he will either have to find new ways of recruiting from the south or he will have to make do with those from the north.”

Barth nods and then asks. “Now what other news is there for us to discuss?”

Maester Luwin speaks then. “There has been a raven from the citadel it seems that they will be sending a delegation to Winterfell Your Grace.”

“For what? What is there here in the north for them to look at and asses, they have already said they will discuss naming you as Grand Maester of the North. What more could they possibly want?” Barth asks.

“They wish to look at a few texts that are said to be only available in Winterfell’s library, as they are making a book based on the histories of the seven kingdoms for their records and seem to wish to present it to both yourself and Rhaegar Targaryen in the near future.” Maester Luwin says.

“Have they specified what texts they wish to look at or is it just a general statement?” Barth asks.

“Texts relating to the wildling invasion of Raymun Redbeard and some information about the old kings of winter Your Grace. That is what they specified in their letter to me. But if there is anything more I shall of course let you know.” Luwin replies.

Barth nods and says. “Make sure they do not go into the interior library.” Luwin nods and then Barth says. “Now what news from the south?”

Barth’s father speaks then. “According to our sources in the south, Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Islands and sent his brother Victarion out to put the Lannister fleet to the torch at anchor. There has been fighting in the Reach as well as in the Westerlands between the Ironborn and the Lannisters and the Tyrells. Balon Greyjoy may wish to seek an alliance with us Your Grace, if he does I would advise you to keep an open mind.”

Barth nods and then asks. “And what of Rhaegar Targaryen what has that man done in response to the threat to his kingdom?”

“He has called his banners and has sent the royal fleet to work with the Redwyne Fleet on paving a way towards the Iron Islands. The man is marching towards Lannisport now as well.” His father replied.

“Good,” Barth replied. “Let us hope the kraken can keep the dragon tamed.”


	18. Gunslinger

**Victarion Greyjoy**

The old way was the only way for the Ironborn to live, that was what Victarion had grown up hearing from his father Quellon and then from his eldest brother Balon. The old way, raiding, pillaging and the taking of salt wives was in the blood of each and every Ironborn, and to try and cut it out or suppress it was simply wrong, and a crime against nature. For nearly three hundred years though, ever since the dragons had come, the Ironborn had been a cowed people constantly toward the greenlanders and had resorted to trading with those kingdoms they had once ruled and raided, and with having to deal with sacking the cities of Essos where there were more riches but less battle glory to be had. It was a sad state of affairs that the Ironborn had found themselves in, from being rich and fertile the Ironborn had become poor and barren, and only once during the entire reign of the dragons had they broken out from their shell and taken full advantage of the death of the dragons actual beasts, during the reign of King Aerys I Targaryen a weak and bookish king, but even then the dragons had destroyed the forces of Dagon Greyjoy and sent them packing back to Pyke like whipped curs.

Not anymore, Barthogan Mormont and the northmen had shown that the dragons could be beaten and that they had been able to dictate their own terms to the dragons. The Targaryen king who sat the throne now Rhaegar, was less secure in his power base than his predecessors had been even during the troubled times when Blackfyres had roamed the world. Rhaegar Targaryen’s defeat at the hands of the Mormonts, a traditional foe of the Ironborn had provided much humour and merriment for the Ironborn, Balon though in his greatness and wisdom had seen the chance that could come from this defeat of the dragons and so Victarion’s older brother had pooled together his resources and had the iron fleet expanded, and then when the time was ripe had called his banners and sent both Victarion and Euron with portions of the Iron Fleet to attack and set to torch the Lannister fleet at Lannisport, along the way they had also taken a lot of the gold and riches from the Lannister city and brought it back from Pyke.  Euron had then been sent from Pyke with some seventy war galleys that they had taken from the Westerlands and from raidings in Essos and had set the Reach alight, drawing the Redwyne Fleet out and away from where the main battles would be.

There had been a lot of work put into the whole campaign before Balon had finally been crowned beneath Nagga’s ribs by the thrice drowned. Trade agreements with the free cities of Pentos and Bravos had been agreed upon, as had agreements with the northern kingdom. A marriage had been arranged for Rodrik, Balon’s oldest son to wed Maege Mormont the daughter of Barthogan Mormont. And another marriage had been discussed before the war as well, for perhaps having Victarion wed Maege Mormont the elder, the king’s aunt in order to provide the northmen with a more secure commander of ships. Victarion was amazed at just how thoroughly his brother had planned the campaign, Balon was many things, a great lord and commander, but he was not a great forward thinker, he had trouble planning for the future, though from this it seemed as if he had learnt his lesson well and was now making sure that all was carried out to perfection.

As to the rest of his family, well Euron was a rogue and sly, Victarion had always known that of his brother, all of them had Balon, Victarion, Aeron and Urrigon they had all know just how sly and unlikeable their brother was and yet he was useful in the sense that his ploy to burn the Lannister fleet had worked and that he was now luring the Redwyne fleet away from meeting the royal fleet. Still Victarion did not trust him nor did he want to have reason to have to look at him ever again. As to Aeron well his brother was a drinker, not a fighter, the man preferred to be drinking and wenching than saying his dues to the drowned god and preparing for the next fight, though Victarion did love Aeron fiercely he knew what he was about sometimes. As to Urrigon well Victarion’s youngest brother was a charmer, a man who knew how to take something and work it to his advantage, he was a man who Victarion was pleased to have serving on the Iron Fleet.

As to Balon’s children, well Rodrik was a drunkard a man who would bring shame down upon the Ironborn, the man was a craven as well for all that he talked with bravado, Victarion had seen his eldest nephew fighting during a campaign in Essos and had seen how the lad had wet himself and drowned himself in alcohol afterward, something Victarion was deeply disappointed in though Balon refused to see that. Just as he refused to see just what an idiot and a failure his second son Maron was as well, the boy was a liar and a bad one at that. He did not have the Ironborn mentality and seemed to be going soft and stupid the older he got, something would need to be done about him and sooner rather than later. As to the two youngest of Balon’s children, Victarion did not know them that well, Asha and Theon they ere called, Asha was bold and brave and would make a fine warrior one day, Theon on the other hand was shy and retiring as only a boy of nine could be something that would need to be beaten out of him if he were to ever hold a place in the Ironborn court.

Victarion himself had no children, he had never thought of getting married again, not after Anya had died from a fever trying to bring their daughter into the world. The match had been arranged by Balon, but he had grown to love his wife over time, and her death had hurt him more than he could say. As the door opened and Balon walked in followed by his son Maron, Victarion shook his head and made he focus on the task ahead, focusing on anything else would do nothing but cause pain. Balon spoke gruffly. “Has there been word from Euron as of yet?”

Maester Tellard a man who had been at Pyke for longer than Victarion had lived unfurled a letter that had Euron’s sigil on it and said aloud. “Lord Euron reports that he managed to lure off the bulk of the Redwyne fleet and through using wildfire and other such means managed to destroy most of it, the Redwyne Fleet is down by a large proportion Your Grace. Lord Euron only lost about twenty of his ships; he is chasing the remaining Redwyne ships and hopes to take them unawares before they make it to Lannisport.”

Balon nods and then says sharply. “What word has there been from Seagard has the place fallen?”

Tellard looks at another raven this one bearing the arms of House Harlaw, and as he unfurls it he sighs deeply and says softly. “It bears bad news Your Grace. Prince Rodrik failed in his attempt to bring Seagard into the kingdom. Ser Harras writes that after fierce fighting on the walls of the city and on the ground before the city, Prince Rodrik was slain by Lord Jason Mallister, and the counterattack that Ser Harras lead broke at the sight of the Prince’s head dangling from the walls, and the reinforcements that came from the nearby Twins.”

Victarion looks at his brother then and sees that Balon’s face is pained though he is trying to hide the pain and hurt as best as possible. Still his voice shakes a little when he speaks next. “Very well, where did Ser Harras send the raven from? Surely not from Seagard, the man might be a buffoon but he is not so great an idiot as to leave what he has to say to chance?”

Maester Tellard looks at the letter and says. “There is no location from where the letter came from Your Grace, though Ser Harras writes that he ordered a retreat once the counter attack failed against the walls of Seagard.”

Balon nods and then turns to Victarion and says. “Very well, I had hoped to have had Seagard under complete control before sending you off, but there is nothing else for us to do now brother. Go to Fair Isle with the Iron Fleet, take the island and whatever gold there is and from there move into the Westerlands and break it. If the royal fleet comes into your way destroy them, and avenge my son.”

Victarion gets up and gets to one knee before his brother and says. “I will Your Grace. I swear by the drowned god that I shall not return until Fair Isle is under your control, and the Westerlands have been set alight. What is Dead May Never Die.”

“But rises again harder and stronger.” Balon and his son and heir Maron say.

With that Victarion gets up and leaves the room making for the port where the fleet is docked, along the way he meets his brothers Urrigon and Aeron. “What did Balon have to say brother?” Urrigon asks.

Victarion looks at his younger brother and says gruffly. “Rodrik has died, Seagard remains part of the Iron Throne’s domain and Euron has managed to break the Redwyne Fleet. We sail for Fair Isle now, and we shall burn it and take what is ours.” There is no conversation there, as they prepare the ships and then set sail just as the sun begins to set. The water is still and pleasant and allows them to make quick progress, as Fair Isle comes into sight, the sun is beginning to rise. Victarion tells his brother Urrigon who serves as his second in command. “Make sure everyone knows what is to be done once we land, I want as little bloodshed as possible.” His brother nods and then they dock at Fair Isle, they unload and begin marching towards the castle, whenever one of the citizens of the place tries to sound the alarm, their throats are slit and the progress continues.

It is only as they approach Farman Castle that the true fighting begins, the garrison of the castle sees their approach and as the sun rises and the light begins to enter, does the battle truly being. Victarion uses his axe to bring down man after man, all of whom are still tired from the night before, Victarion long ago learn that the best course of action during a night time journey was to catch some shut eye standing up and move from there. These Farman soldiers could have used that, but it is clear something happened last night for they are lax and are easily cut down. Farman Castle soon looms right in front of him and the fighting continues. Victarion’s axe is covered in blood, his armour is slightly dented and he himself is covered in mud and blood, but still they push on.

Victarion and his men break through the gates of the castle, and bring down those who come into their way, swinging and fighting violently like men possessed. They fight their way up the stairs towards where they believe the lord’s solar is, and sure enough they find Lord Farman sat there waiting for them, the man is old and seemingly does not know what is happening. And so Victarion kills him with a swing of his axe, and declares the castle part of the kingdom of the Iron Islands. Once a raven has been dispatched to Pyke, Victarion declares that he shall wed Jeyne Farman to make his brother’s hold over the island easier.  A few days after that though, the royal fleet is spotted in the distance and Victarion prepares for war once more.


	19. Numb

**King Rhaegar I Targaryen**

He can hear the sound of men fighting, dying and screaming, the wars he has fought in are the ghosts that haunt him now. Not the ghosts of people he never met, the ghosts of his grandfather, his great grandfather and his great uncle, those were the ghosts that haunted him before the rebellion, before Harrenhal, before Lyanna. Now her ghost along with the ghosts of all those he sent out to die haunt him and keep him awake at night. The rebellion that his cousin Robert had led had been a complete accident, had Harrenhal gone as planned then it would have been a smooth removal of his father that would have happened, he had not thought to find the woman for his prophecy there, Elia had been declared barren following Aegon’s birth and as such could not give him his Visenya, and for things to have gone smoothly when the time came there needed to be a Visenya, what better woman he had thought than a woman of ice Lyanna Stark had fitted in quite nicely with what he thought should be the case and he had run away with her. It had not taken much persuasion the girl, for that was what she truly was no matter what she said, had been easily swayed by the flowery words he had said to her in his letters, words he did not mean, but words he used for a purpose, and how that had come to haunt him. He had not thought Brandon Stark would come to challenge him nor had he thought just how mad his father truly was to execute the two oldest Starks. He knew that the rebellion had justification and yet he had had to fight and so he had.

And then Eddard Stark died and the northmen decided they no longer wanted to be part of the realm anymore and they had declared independence. That was something Rhaegar could not accept, he might no longer believe that he was the one to bring about the prophecy but he knew that too much time had passed to enable the seven kingdoms to rule themselves effectively without any central governance and so war had been fought. Jon Connington, his friend and his hand had died during that war, killed by the big bear the only man to best Arthur Dayne in single combat, Barthogan Mormont. The big bear was ruthless in destroying any presence of the men Rhaegar had sent north and so that attack had failed. As had Rhaegar’s plan to take the Moat and march up through the neck, sending the Dornishmen whilst not the most sound tactical decision, they were light footed and knew how to do sneak attacks better than any Westerosi ever could and so that had been his reasoning. That there had been a slaughter was on him, and he knew that it would have happened anyway, and still the guilt plagued him, especially as he remembered how pail, frail and torn Arthur had looked.

That war had ended in disaster and Rhaegar’s hold on the seven kingdoms had grown weaker following it, with Jon dead, Rhaegar had named Tywin Lannister hand, on the advice of Randyll Tarly and Kevan Lannister and so the two of them had begun preparing for when the next war might break out. As it turned out Balon Greyjoy the man who had sat out the rebellion had finally decided to stir himself and return to the old way. That war had been fiercely fought as well. Lannisport and Fair Isle had burned, the Ironborn had smashed the Redwyne Fleet at the Battle of the Seas and from there taken the Shield Islands and the Arbor. And when the royal fleet finally made its way to take on the Ironborn they were surrounded by fleets from the Iron Islands, the north and from the free cities, and they had burned. With that the battle of Red Lake had been key in deciding who would win the battle, and as such the Ironborn had won much and they won more, Rhaegar had come very close to death on that day, his back and his chest still hurt from where the weapons had hit him. The Ironborn had won their independence that day and a treaty had seen that, that was formally recognised no matter how much it grated on Rhaegar.

If things at the kingdom at large were bad, then at home in his family life, they were no better. Things with Elia had never been so strained as they were now, he knew that she had not been happy with his decision to abscond with Lyanna Stark reasons or not, and it seemed she was not very happy with the fact that though he had brought Aemon back with him, he refused to raise the boy or have anything to do with the child. That Aemon was being raised on Dragonstone by Rhaegar’s own mother, Rhaegar had thought would please Elia, so that she would not have to look at Aemon every day, it also meant Rhaegar did not have to be reminded of his failures every day. His two other children were growing up quickly and would soon need to have matches arranged for them, Rhaenys was a confident and beautiful girl, truly her mother’s daughter, with her dark skin and violet eyes. Aegon was also confident more like Oberyn than Rhaegar, and as such Rhaegar did sometimes worry about his eldest son. From his mother’s letters he knew that Aemon was quiet and book shy, Viserys was loud and boisterous and Daenaerys was peaceful. Rhaenys had visited Dragonstone some four or five times since Aemon had moved there, and it seemed that she had become close to her half brother, something that surprised him considering how much like her mother she was, but it was also something that made him happy that she could be close to him even if Aegon showed no interest in doing so.

As to the prophecy, after years of trying to decipher it and make it become a reality, Rhaegar had found that he did not much care about it anymore, though there were times when it played at the back of his mind. He would have liked of another child, and Elia could not give him that, and so he had begun looking at other possible wives, including Cersei Lannister, Bethany Redwyne amongst others. The Tyrell sisters had been married off soon after the end of the northern war, and so they were out of the question. Rhaegar knew that Tywin Lannister wanted his daughter as a queen though he would never suggest it openly, and the Redwynes cared little or less, and so Rhaegar had been thinking about that for a while, his mother had told him it would be better to go with the Redwyne girl so as to not antagonise anyone else and to reduce the already noticeable presence the Lannisters had at court.

As the council doors opened though Rhaegar shook those thoughts from his mind, they could be discussed later on. The members of his small council were hand of the king Tywin Lannister, a smart man and capable, master of coin Kevan Lannister another smart and capable man, master of laws Lord Randyll Tarly brutally efficient, master of ships Ser Adam Velaryon who had replaced his fallen brother, master of whispers Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Prince Lewyn Martell who had replaced Gerold Hightower four years ago after the Hightower had died. Once they were all seated Rhaegar spoke. “I thank you all for coming today. It has been sometime since we last met my lords, and as such I would hear what has been happening in the kingdoms as a whole and what the most pressing issues are.”

Tywin Lannister spoke then his voice calm and collected. “Well there has been word from the arbor, it appears that they are planning to throw back the Ironborn sooner than we had thought, and as such are requesting royal permission to do so.”

Rhaegar paused for a moment and said. “We do not have the strength to support such a move, tell them to wait for a little while longer, sooner or later the Ironborn will slip up and when they do we shall be ready. Varys what has your source on Pyke had to say about Balon Greyjoy?”

The eunuch looks down at his notes and then says. “Well my source has written to say that the plans we put in place will soon be ready to put into action. Balon Greyjoy’s reign may turn out be incredibly short. His only remaining son Theon wed Maege Mormont the daughter of Barthogan Mormont some three moons ago, though my birds tell me that Balon’s brothers Euron and Urrigon are planning a coup when their brother dies. For they believe the Ironborn and the northmen can never be true allies. We may be able to use that to our advantage Your Grace.”

Rhaegar nods and says. “Keep me posted on that Varys. Now what else is there for us to discuss?”

Pycelle speaks then and says. “I received word from a friend at the citadel, the maesters that went north to Winterfell for the book that the maesters are making on Westeros came away with some very interesting information. Information that my friend believes could help Your Grace in taking the north back for good. He shall be coming to King’s Landing in two moons time to present this information to you, personally Your Grace.”

Rhaegar’s ears perk up at that and he asks. “And did this friend specify what it was that he had found that could be of particular use to us, in the dusty records of Winterfell?”

Pycelle shakes his head and says. “He did not Your Grace, but he did say it was something that the Starks of Winterfell would never have been as careless as to allow him to find it.”

Tywin Lannister speaks then and says. “Your Grace, whilst this might prove very useful, the maesters of Oldtown are known to be prone to flights of fancy, and it seems that this Archmaester is one who wants career advancement. It is likely that this piece of information is nothing more than some scarp of information about old Winterfell, or nothing at all. I would hold no stock to it unless Pycelle or someone else who knows the north well can give their approval to it.”

Rhaegar nods and then asks. “Lord Tarly has there been any further word from the Night’s Watch. DO they still wish for recruits from the south or not?”

Lord Tarly shakes his head and says. “It would appear that the northern lords are unwilling to let anyone from the south enter the north and as such any possible recruits from the south are not going to be allowed in. As such it seems Lord Commander Qorgyle has decided to look to the free cities for the increase in numbers he seems so desperate to achieve. As such prisoners of war from the free cities are now going to the watch and taking their vows. Thus we have far too many criminals in our cells than we know what to do with Your Grace.”

Rhaegar sighs and says. “Very well, those who have committed the most grievous of offences are to be executed the rest are to lose the offending limbs for their crimes. Which ones get which punishments I shall leave up to you Lord Tarly. I have been too lenient with some here in the south it is time they saw the truth behind my house words, we have peace now and we must work to making sure it is held for much longer than before.” That was the one thing, Rhaegar was determined he was going to uphold no matter what it cost him.


	20. A Prince Of Dorne

**Prince Doran Martell**

The sound of the children playing in the Water Gardens filled Doran Martell with some sense of joy, it helped numb the pain in his joints and in his head and his heart. Doran Martell had never been the most active of men even in his youth, and he was far from young now, forty four years old as he was now, it had been three years since the Greyjoys had become independent and nine years since Robert Baratheon’s blood had stained the waters of the Trident. In that time things between Dorne and King’s Landing had rapidly deteriorated, Doran’s goodbrother, Rhaegar Targaryen who now sat the Iron Throne had one made blunder after the other, the man seemingly lacked the understanding of what his actions had cost everyone. The north was independent now, as was the Iron Islands, there was less and less for Doran’s nephew Aegon to rule over when his time came, and there had also been a sense amongst some of Doran’s own lords that perhaps breaking away and becoming independent wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all it had taken marriage to bring them into the seven kingdoms in the first place, no dragons or fire and steel had been able to fully bring them in before.

Doran whilst seeing the appeal of such a thing was wary of declaring independence, simply because it would mean many lives would be lost for something so trivial as righting some perceived insult that Rhaegar had done to them during the wars the man had fought. People would die because of this desire, and Doran had seen enough bloodshed to last a live time, he had fought as a squire on the Stepstones alongside his uncle Lord Ryam Gargalen and he had seen the death and destruction that came from such desires for independence, and as such he had no desire to leave his daughter that need. There was Elia and her children to think of as well, though his goodbrother did not seem to be a complete idiot, he had appointed a lion as his hand and the man had desire to make his daughter queen, what with Elia not being able to bear anymore children for the Targaryen king, there was a chance he might set her aside and take the Lannister woman for wife, and then Elia and her children and the Aemon boy would be in trouble. And so Doran played the long game, as his mother and grandfather had before him and he waited to see what would occur.

Of course that meant that his brother Oberyn was stirring the lords of Dorne into a frenzy, but that was being done on Doran’s own orders, he wanted his lords reminded that it was to Sunspear they owed their allegiance not King’s Landing. But there was a part of Doran that worried that his brother might take things too far should he be provoked into doing so, and with Doran dying, Arianne, Quentyn and Trystane would all be in danger, Mellario had predeceased Doran, she had died giving birth to Trystane, and as such Doran knew his brother might use his children to his gain. Arianne was more like Oberyn than Doran, and as such Doran knew his eldest daughter might very well give herself to whatever schemes his brother and his cronies came up with it was a dangerous game they were playing. The door to his room opened and in walked Maester Caleotte entered his room and said. “My prince, your brother Prince Oberyn, and your children are here to see you as requested.”

“Good, send them in and then you may take the rest of the time off for now. I won’t need you again.” Doran wheezed.

The maester bowed and then went to the door and in walked Doran’s brother the tall and dashing Prince Oberyn, as well as Doran’s children proud Arianne, strong Quentyn and sweet Trystane, he would be leaving them all behind and for now he hoped and prayed his brother’s love for Elia and the children would save them all from war. “You asked to see us brother?” Oberyn asked, coming to sit on the bed beside Doran, Doran’s children did the same.

“Yes,” Doran wheezed. “I would speak with you all before I depart this world. Mellario left and now I too must go, but before I leave I must give you all advice that I would have given you when you were older had I the time.” When his brother goes to interrupt, Doran says sharply. “Do not play the child with me Oberyn; it does not suit you well anymore. No, now Arianne, my sweet, sweet girl. You have a fire in you that will serve you when you become princess of Dorne, you will need that fire when dealing with our lords, I wish I had more time with which to teach you our ways but alas, make sure to heed the advice of your uncle Oberyn and of Ser Manfrey they know what they are talking about.” His daughter had tears in her eyes but she nodded and Doran went on. “Quentyn, my son. I had meant for you to return to Yronwood and finish your training with Lord Anders. But now I find that you must remain here and train with your uncle. Listen to what he says and it will serve you well, you will need to be your sister’s strong right hand as your uncle was mine.” His son nods, and then Doran turns to his youngest son Trystane but a babe and now an orphan he smiles sadly at his son. “Trystane, you are my youngest son. I know you will not remember me or your mother when you grow older but listen to your brother and sister and uncle and they will teach you all you need to know about being a Prince of Dorne and a Martell. Now Oberyn come here.”

His brother leans in and whispers. “Yes brother?”

Doran smiles weakly and says. “Scowling never did suit you brother. I know I ask much of you, and I know being kept to Sunspear will likely infuriate you, but I need you to do that until Arianne reaches the right age. I know you and uncle Lewyn are thinking about rebelling but please remember that Elia is still in the capital as are her children. Unless you know of a way to get them out of that viper’s nest then I do not think that war is the answer. Would that father still lived here, then perhaps we could discuss things more civilly, but alas he and mother never reconciled before her death and now we are left to face the ashes. Teach my children well brother, I am expecting that of you.”

His brother nods and says. “I will Doran, truly I will. I did not mean for you to know this before you passed, but we had word from Sunspear, Rhaegar has wed Cersei Lannister and has gotten her with child. Soon enough the war we all wanted to avoid might be coming anyway.”

Doran sighs then and says. “Then do what you must and make sure that my children do not suffer for it. Now I must rest.” And with that the ruling prince of Dorne closes his eyes, never to wake up again. On the thirtieth day of the fifth month of the 292nd year after Aegon’s Landing, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell dies from illness. With his death, it seems as though one more kingdom might breakaway.


	21. Ignition

**Lady Sylvia Corbray**

She had grown up in the Vale, her mother Branda Stark had wed her father Jon Royce the brother of the Lord of Runestone whilst King Aegon the Unlikely had ruled the seven kingdoms, and Sylvia had been their first born daughter. As the eldest child, Sylvia had been expected to fill in the role that a son would normally play, and as such as well as learning how to sew and run a household and the other things ladies learnt, Sylvia learnt how to defend herself and learnt how to play the game, her father was a sharp man, Jon Royce, a warrior and a cunning politician, her uncle Lord Arthor Royce had been wont to say that Jon should have been the Lord of Runestone not him, though her cousin Yohn was a far superior lord than what anyone else had thought he would be. It had been her father and mother who had thought to wed her to Desmond Corbray the heir to Heart’s Home, they had thought to strengthen ties between their family and the other houses of the Vale, though looking back on it now, Sylvia supposed they were doing so to make life easier for the uncle she had never met Edwyle Stark, a most feared man that one was.

Desmond had been a good man, caring and charming, though he had had a propensity, at least before Lyonel had been born for them, sleeping around a lot, and Sylvia knew that were more than a few Stones walking around who bore her husband’s look. Desmond and she had come to be fond of one another if not truly loving, and when her mother had gone off and wed Jeor Mormont, she had felt abandoned and lost, and it had been Desmond who had helped her through her pain by speaking of the trips they would go and do, and so they had done those things. Her husband had been many things, he surely knew how to keep his word. When Desmond had died shortly after the war of the usurper, Sylvia had found herself alone once more, and it was that loneliness more than anything that made her seek the company of her cousin.

Her and Desmond’s children were a quarrelsome lot and Sylvia was genuinely quite worried as to what would happen to the family once she died. Lyonel was the Lord of Heart’s Home and was a bitter man, she knew her first born had often felt as if his father had never truly cared all that much for him. Her firstborn son knew how to play politics and was a good cunning man, but he was not a warrior, Desmond had always cherished fighting and warrior skills more than he had political acumen, and as such there had been tension there. It did not help, she supposed that her husband had poured salt in the wound by giving Lady Forlorn to Lyn instead of to Lyonel, men were such fools sometimes. Lyn, her second son was something of a worry to her, he was a hot tempered man who got into more fights than was good for him, and it was through these fights that he had earnt the right to the family ancestral sword. Things between him and Lyonel were tense, and whilst Lyonel had been playing the game in the Vale and King’s Landing, Lyn had been covering himself in glory, and had won himself a marriage to the king’s cousin Lady Saera Plumm, something that she knew was just a sham considering where her son’s preferences lay, a most disgusting thing as far as Sylvia was concerned. Her only bright spark as far as her children was concerned was in the form of her youngest son Lucas. A knight of the Kingsguard, and everything that his grandfather and uncle had been, Lucas was a bright lad, who knew right from wrong, and as far as Sylvia was concerned should have been Lord of Heart’s Home, had he not been in the Kingsguard he might still have been. But alas, he was in the Kingsguard sworn to that dragon king, and for once she and her eldest two sons were most concerned about him and that was why they had decided to meet with one another in the sept of Heart’s Home.

It was Lyonel who spoke first, his voice soft and quiet, her eldest son looked worn and tired. “There has been word from the capital, it would appear the king did not marry Cersei Lannister, it appears that move was simply a ruse to see whether Dorne would react at all to whatever the king did.”

“And have they responded?” Lyn asks a glint in his eye that suggests to Sylvia that her second born son is relishing the chance to continue to prove his martial prowess.

“Considering that it has been a year since the supposed marriage took place, they have not done anything. It would appear Prince Oberyn is a much more patient man then anyone gave him credit for. Either that or he has much better sources in King’s Landing then we do.” Lyonel replies. “That does not matter for now though, my sources in the capital report that the king has begun looking northwards once more.”

Sylvia looks at her son then and asks. “And what makes your sources think that son? The king lost face when he lost to the Iron Islands and when he lost to the north. His forces are too scattered now, and he cannot rely on the reach anymore, not with the Redwyne Fleet now either supplanting the Ironborn or being used to raid the other parts of the kingdom. Either he has to remove the Ironborn as a threat or he has to pull a miracle and hatch a dragon.”

Her son looks at her then and says simply. “The king knows that the only way he will save face is if he regains one of the two kingdoms that have gone from the throne’s command. As he knows the Ironborn are far too powerful at sea for the Royal Fleet to even be a threat, he will have to take the north back from the Mormonts. My sources within the capital tell me that the king has been working on one or two of the more ambitious and powerful lords in the north to help unseat the Mormonts from power. Sooner or later he will have to act, otherwise he will look a fool, and the Lannisters will move in and take control.”

Lyn speaks then. “It matters not what the King’s reasons are for wanting to fight in the north, the forces of the Vale will march. Jon Arryn has become old and fearful and as such will use an excuse to try and win back his Ned’s kingdom back for the boy who is more Tully than Stark in appearance and personality. If that attack should fail soon enough the king will realise that after Robb Stark we have the most senior and the best claim to Winterfell.”

Sylvia looks at her second son and asks. “What are you suggesting Lyn? Barthogan Mormont has the best claim as my mother’s son, after Robb Stark, and the northern lords have already chosen him as their leader. If you think that just because you are a man grown and have battle experience that they will suddenly become more welcoming of you, than they are of Robb Stark, then you are very wrong. You are still a southerner who worships the seven and follows the Andal customs that they so despise.”

Her son’s lip curls up then and his voice drips with ice when he replies. “Robb Stark is a child, who will need someone with experience to show him the right path. Should the king succeed in this new invasion attempt then perhaps, he might choose one of us to act as Robb Stark’s regent until such a time that the boy can rule for himself. After all we were taught how the north operated by you, mother. Or if not, well children die all the time in King’s Landing and from the strangest of things.”

“That would be most convenient for your ego would it not brother. Lord of Winterfell and heir to Heart’s Home. Enough to feed your ego, but will it be enough to placate the northern lords or even the king should Robb Stark die?” Lyonel asks.

“I do not like where this is going, and shall have nothing to do with it. My family has bled enough for that damned throne.” Sylvia says angrily. “The north belongs to Robb Stark and it is for him that you shall fight when the king comes calling. Not for any other reason.”


	22. Landless

**King Barthogan I Mormont**

He had been king for ten years now, and still it was a strange feeling. It was not something he ever thought he would get used to, and it was something he would never feel comfortable with, he knew that much. He had never thought he would be much more than his brother’s strong right hand, and even then he would have been happy with Lyarra and their children on Bear Island doing his bit to help the island and his brother’s people. He had never thought kingship would have been an option, and now here he was teaching his son and heir Brandon about what it was to be a good king, and continuing the ways of the first men. Councils, and court, they were the things that a king did, and if he was being completely honest with himself, Barth found them to be quite annoying, the council meetings he could understand, and whilst he wanted to help the people who came before him at court, he found that sometimes he simply wanted to snap at them and tell them to deal with their own problems like the people of Bear Island had had to do for centuries. It was not a kingly thought he knew and yet he found that thinking it and actually saying it were two different things, he had said it once to his wife and then from there had gone to the practice yard. Whatever tensions he had with being king, he found that going to the practice yard and battering whoever came to challenge him was most rewarding work and something that he wished he could do more of, with war always a constant step away there was no excuse to allow his skills to slack off.

Being king had also meant having to strike alliances with those whom he had always traditionally hated, the Ironborn who had rebelled against Rhaegar Targaryen and had been successful in winning their freedom now controlled the seas and as such Barth’s father had suggested that an alliance with them might help secure Bear Island and the western coast of the north from further raiding. The alliance had been sealed with a betrothal between Barth’s daughter Maege and Prince Theon Greyjoy, who was now heir to the Seastone chair, following his elder brothers Rodrik and Maron’s deaths. Maege had been sent off to learn the ways of the Ironborn some two years ago, and though Barth had been loath to send her off he knew that in the long term it would be better for them all if Maege knew the ways of the Ironborn and got herself ingrained into their culture sooner rather t0han later. And his daughter was a smart girl, she would know what to do, to allow that to happen, and if the Ironborn mistreated her, Barth would end them there and then.

As to his family, it seemed that his wife and children had adapted to being royalty far better than he ever could or would. His wife Lyarra, seemed as if she were born to be queen, having a sense of regalness and authority that seemed so natural to her, she was the most respected and admired woman in the north and perhaps the whole of Westeros Barth knew, and he knew that his wife seemed to have grown more and more confident in her role as Queen now than she had been ten years ago. Their eldest son and heir Brandon, was a good lad, eighteen years old, he was a true fighter, big and broad known as the little bear by the family, Brandon would make a good king, he was learned, wise and he knew how to fight well. Barth’s second son Jeor the younger held the same sort of charm and roguishness that he had held as a child, he was now sixteen and was soon to wed Wynafryd Manderly, which would give them White Harbour what with Lord Wyman edging closer to death with each passing day. As to his daughters, Branda was twelve now a maiden flowered and would sooner or later wed Domeric Bolton the heir to the Dreadfort, his eldest daughter had grown up into a bright and charming lady, someone who knew how to get what she wanted when she wanted. She had the northern court wrapped around her little finger, and she knew how to use that to her advantage, Barth knew that that would stand her in good stead with a family like the Boltons. Maege, of course lived in the Iron Islands now, and her letters seemed to show her thoroughly enjoying her time with her betrothed and soon to be good family, learning the ways of the Ironborn in the only way she could, through example and trial and error, Barth was truly proud of his daughters. As to his third son Torrhen, now that was where some of Barth’s concerns rested, there was something wrong with his third son, he was quiet and peaceful, but seemed to be not quite with it, as if he was away in some dream land that only he knew of most of the time. What was wrong with him no one knew, but there were times when Barth feared that something akin to madness might have hit his youngest son, and as such Torrhen was kept inside Winterfell and rarely ventured outside, as Maester Luwin tried and failed to find a cure for whatever it was that ailed him.

As to his family on Bear Island, they were all doing well. His father lived in Winterfell most of the time now, as he was serving as High Steward, and as such they had become closer as a result of that. Jorah as High Constable of the Northern Army also spent a great deal of time in Winterfell, overseeing the training of new recruits and such, something that it seemed had made him very happy. His brother’s son Rickard remained on Bear Island, and seemed a grim and solemn lad, the lad’s relationship with his father strained and not all there. Barth’s aunt Maege, was as fierce as ever, her daughter Dacey the same, Dacey and Brandon seemed to be very happy in their marriage and a child had been born from their union some two moons ago, a boy they had named Beron for the northern lord who should have been king. Maege’s second daughter Alysanne was also wed, to one Preston Woodfoot, and as such seemed happy with her husband and daughter, the other girls were too young but Barth knew they would be handfuls when they grew up.

It was for his family that Barth had called his banners when news of the army under command of Rhaegar Targaryen was marching up the neck had reached him. 15,000 men had answered the call to arms, and as such they were all itching for a fight, with the Iron Throne’s fleet still decimated after the war with the Ironborn and the Redwyne fleet under Ironborn control the only way for Targaryen to bring his army up into the north was through the neck and as such they would be bled all along the way. It was perfect and yet they still needed to plan ahead and so Barth had called a war council. Lord Jeor Barth’s father, Jorah the High Constable, Theo Wull commander of the Shadowcats, Mark Ryswell commander of the Winter Wolves, Lord Umber, Lord Dustin, Lord Karstark, Lord Bolton, Lord Ryswell and Lord Reed were all present for the war council with Ser Wendel Manderly leading ranging parties through the neck. Barth spoke first. “We all know why we are here my lords. Rhaegar Targaryen clearly has not learnt his lesson from last time and seeks to challenge our freedom once more. Now I would hear what news there is to hear before we make our battle plans.”

Lord Howland Reed a quiet man normally spoke first. “My men have reported seeing a host of some 2000 men under the command of one of Rhaegar’s friends marching through the swamps as if with purpose. Someone is clearly giving them guidance as to where to go, though who it is I could not say for none of my men or women would ever sell you out Your Grace.”

Barth nods and says. “Keep me posted on what you find out Lord Howland, if there is a traitor in our midst he must be stomped out immediately and effectively before we lose too much ground on the southerners. Now is there anything more that we must discuss before the tactics can be surmised?”

Lord Roose speaks then, his voice soft and calm. “There is Your Grace. It would seem that Rhaegar Targaryen has named Lyn Corbray Robb Stark’s heir and as such has declared that the man shall serve as Robb Stark’s regent should he be successful in reclaiming the north.”

Barth sighs then, remembering what his mother had said fearing about his sisters lives and the lives of their children. The Greatjon snorts then and says. “Corbray? That child fiddler? You are telling me Rhaegar Targaryen has named that brute Robb Stark’s heir, the man must be madder than Aerys to do such a thing. Ach, it just gives us one more southerner to kill that is of import.”

Barth nods then and says. “That is all well and good, Targaryen has just painted a target o my nephew’s back. Make sure he is taken care of during the battle and we shall have nothing to fear. Now on towards the tactics. Father has there been word from Ser Wendel as to where precisely the bulk of Rhaegar’s forces are?”

His father speaks then his voice gruff and direct. “Aye there has been word, there was a battle between Ser Wendel’s forces and the scouts that Rhaegar had sent out under Ser Brynden Tully, Tully retreated but there were many casualties on both sides, and it is safe to say that the dragon  king will not be completely wise as to where we actually are. We cannot dither for much longer though, soon enough they will see through the weaknesses in the Moat and from there they will navigate round and come behind us. We must give them battle.”

Barth is silent thinking about what to do, and then he turns to the Greatjon. “Lord Umber, I want you take 4,000 men and attack the first forces you come across. Fight them and draw them towards the Moat, they will be expecting arrows and such, we shall wait for them outside the gates of the Moat and from there we shall crush them. Destroy their eyes and bring me their ears Lord Umber.” The man nods and says he shall, and the council meeting is dismissed, before Jorah leaves though Barth stops him and says. “I want the Black Bears to be on the ready for when Lord Umber’s horn sounds. The man is bold, but he is not smart, we must take them unawares as to when the bulk will hit.”

And so later that day Barth watches Lord Umber leave through the bear gate of the Moat, led by Lord Howland, and he waits for the sounds of battle to reach them, he is armoured and mounted when the sounds of swords being drawn and screams echo through the air, he nods to Lord Martyn Cassel and soon enough the wolf gate opens up once more and the fighting begins anew. The Greatjon has done his job well, the men being led are battered and broken, and seem to sense that their defeat will be imminent, and so Barth uses that to his advantage, swinging his sword left, right and centre, on he goes, swinging his sword, pushing through the crowd of men, hacking, cutting and blocking. Men are brought to the ground their bodies covering the ground in front of the moat and soon their blood paints a river in the bogs.

Barth continues killing more and more men, wondering all the while where Rhaegar is, kill the man and this war ends. He cuts through a white knight of the Kingsguard, who he will later learn his Prince Lewyn Martell the old Lord Commander is slow in his old age, swinging but off target the blows land and then the man is dead, his head split in two. Barth continues swinging his sword, fighting and killing and hacking and cutting and more and more men fall to the ground, and then he comes across a man he recognises as Lyn Corbray, his nephew and his sister Sylvia’s second son. The man is a fierce fighter but over confident and hot headed and it shows, his swings are erratic and Barth manages to parry them and break the man’s hold on his sword fairly easily, a swing, a parry and a swing and then the man is dead. The fighting continues but Barth knows in that moment that they have won. He keeps fighting but the battle seems to be dying down, Rhaegar Targaryen is nowhere in sight, and the southern forces are being massively depleted, and just as Barth has finished hacking off another man’s head, a horn is sounded and he hears shouts of. “Men are coming from the river, men are coming from the river.” So that is where the man has been, Barth cuts down another white knight and rides to meet the southern king.


	23. The Red Viper

**Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell**

It had been fourteen years since the war of the usurper, the war that had started when his fool of a good brother had absconded with Lyanna Stark, the realm had shaken with the war that had come from that action and the ripples had caused the north and the Iron Islands to break away from the rest of the kingdoms. Wars had been fought to regain those two kingdoms and Oberyn’s goodbrother had failed both times to bring the kingdoms back into the fold, in fact his latest campaign which had ended three years ago, had ended with two members of the Kingsguard slain and Rhaegar Targaryen himself captured and brought close to death. Whilst Doran had still lived Oberyn had been amongst some of the lords who had argued that now was the right time to break away from the Iron Throne and win their independence along with the north and the iron islands Dorne was the most culturally different of the seven kingdoms and as such would never truly be accepted by anyone not Dornish, and furthermore the way in which Rhaegar had treated Elia and her children had been shameful. Doran ever cautious and patient had said that the time was not yet right for them to break away and that doing so would simply harm Elia and her children especially with Tywin Lannister sniffing around like a hound. But then the fever had taken Doran and Arianne had become Princess Of Dorne, and Oberyn her regent until such time she had reached majority which she had done now. And as such Oberyn had spent those years shaping her into a ruler who would do what was best for Dorne, and would not be afraid to act.

Oberyn had loved his brother something fierce and had seen just how good a ruler he truly was but now was not the time for cautious action, now was the time to ensure that what was best for Dorne came into being, there could be no hesitancy there had to be action and soon. Arianne it seemed was much more like himself than Doran, she was hot headed and though she was smart and could be cunning when she wanted to be her hot headedness sometimes got the better of her, like when she had given her maidenhead not to the intended target of Viserys Targaryen when the boy had come for a visit but to Daemon Sand simply because the boy was good in bed. Oberyn could now fully appreciate why both Doran and their mother Loreza had been so frustrated and exasperated by him at times, it had been a long hard task bringing Arianne up into the mature woman she was today, and as such he had had to curb some of his own instincts in the process. Though his daughters, the Sand Snakes had helped as well they were prominent in Arianne’s court and as such the Yronwoods had not been able to manipulate themselves into favour as they might have thought.

Their family was a very closely knit one, Arianne as its head was a woman mature and determined in doing what was best for Dorne and their family and Oberyn was so very proud of her, and he knew that Doran would have been very proud of her as well. Doran’s two younger boys, Quentyn and Trystane were good lads, Quentyn was a smart lad though being not as attractive as his sister was often overlooked and underestimated and as such had been able to gather a lot of useful information for Arianne and Oberyn to use in the years since Doran’s passing. Trystane was a sweet lad who would be a handful in a few years. As to Oberyn’s own daughters, the infamous Sand Snakes, Obara was angry and powerful, Nymeria cunning and sly, Tyene sweet and sly, Sarella curious and informative and his younger daughters by Ellaria were all a handful, and so their pack was growing and soon would be more fulfilled. As to Elia and her children, Oberyn had visited them some two moons ago in preparation for what was to happen soon and had made the various arrangements to smuggle them out of King’s Landing when the time came. Elia had always been too kind for her own good and as such had suffered at the hands of that oaf of a husband she had. Still she was Dornish and so she persevered. As to her children, Rhaenys was bold and smart and reminded Oberyn a lot of their cousin Doreah, and Aegon was just like Elia sweet and kind, though if the Redwyne girl had a son that would be ending with him on a spike.

 Of course for now though Oberyn had more pressing matters to focus on what with Arianne having called a meeting of her closest advisors, which included Oberyn, Maester Caleotte, Oberyn’s daughters Nymeria, Tyene and Sarella, and her brother Quentyn as well as Oberyn cousin Lord Trebor Jordayne and Oberyn’s uncle Ser Darin Gargalen. Arianne spoke first her tone soft. “My lords and ladies, I thank you for coming here at such a late hour. However, it has been sometime since we last met as one to speak on the matters of Dorne and the realm at large. And as such I feel that the need has arisen for us to do so, especially in light of Rhaegar Targaryen’s new marriage to a Tyrell  girl. So I would hear what news there is for me.”

Tyene spoke first. “With his marriage to the Tyrell whore, our dearly beloved king has caused the faith to begin muttering and murmuring about Targaryens and their practices. The High Septon in particular seems very pressed on getting the king to decide which wife he wants, Aunt Elia or the Tyrell whore, and from what my friends at Baelor have said, it seems as if the King is hovering on the Tyrell girl.”

Oberyn clenched his hands together, the fool had never been able to appreciate Elia, Arianne though hid her emotions and simply said. “Well then, that will make things easier for us when the time comes to sneak Aunt Elia and her children out of the viper’s nest that they call a capital. Tell me Tyene has the High Septon said what would happen to Rhaenys and Aegon’s status as heirs to the throne should Rhaegar Targaryen chose the Tyrell whore?”

Oberyn looks at his daughter then and sees that she has a cat like smile on her face. “I managed to speak with the High Septon when I was in King’s Landing last, and I do believe that the man knows what will best for him and for the realm is if Aegon and Rhaenys remain the true heirs to the throne. And should the King suddenly slip in during one of his prayers at the Sept of Baelor, well that would be a simple mistake. The Tyrells are held in contempt within the Faith due to the old shrew who calls the shots.”

Arianne speaks then. “Very well, so long as the Faith remains on our side then we can move on with the next part of our plan. Now then,” his niece looks at him then and asks. “How go preparations for the war uncle?”

“They go well my princess. All the houses that came to Sunspear to do obedience to you two years ago remember the pledge they made, and are calling their men and women to arms as we speak. Lord Yronwood has shown that he is not as treacherous as his father was and has now begun calling his own spears, we will have the strength of Dorne waiting for your word.” Oberyn says.

His niece smiles then and says. “That is good, very, very good. Now Nymeria and Sarella have a job for the both of you. I need the both of you to go to King’s Landing, we did not attend the wedding of King Rhaegar to Olene Tyrell and as such some will be whispering about what we mean to do. I must needs have you both in court ready to act on my word for when the Reachmen return from King’s Landing they will do all they can to make sure Aegon is not safe, you must remove the harridan that stalks the shadows of King’s Landing when you get to King’s Landing, and suggest to Maester Pycelle that the king is not feeling well. Nymeria I will leave that to you. Sarella, your job is to make sure that the intellectuals at court line up behind Aegon ready for when he comes to the throne.”

Both of his daughters bow their heads and say. “It shall be as you have asked my princess.”

Arianne smiles and then turns to Ser Darin and asks. “Now Ser Darin, you have been gone for many a year I would ask you though, will Prince Aelix stand beside us in what we mean to do, or will he side with the fool who sits the throne at present?”

Ser Darin Gargalen a man who was very close to both Oberyn’s mother and father, and whose own mother was kin to Prince Aelix Targaryen the youngest of King Aegon the Unlikely’s children, a man who has travelled and fought in many wars and battles and has seen many, many things takes his time to answer but when he does the answer fills Oberyn with more hope that what they have planned will be successful. “He will my princess. Prince Aelix might be a Targaryen in name, but in heart and mind he is a Dornishmen through and through, he cut ties with his brother’s family after King Jaehaerys died and the fool Aerys came to the throne. And after the rebellion he has seen no reason to speak with the boy who calls himself a king. He will fight for Elia and her children, and so shall the pirates and the cutthroats that fight for him. We shall do our bit for Dorne, and remind these fools why it is that we are strong.”

Oberyn’s niece smiles then and says. “Good, then we are sorted. In two days time Nymeria and Sarella shall depart for King’s Landing and when the moon is full, we shall show the world why we are Unbent, Unbowed and Unbroken.”


	24. Princess Of Dorne

**Queen Elia Targaryen**

King’s Landing stunk to high heaven, and not just of waste and the thousands of bodies that were pressed in together in such a closed space, no it stank of intrigue and politics and dishonesty. Elia had spent close to two decades in the capital learning all about just how dishonest and brutal those who wanted power could be. She had seen her goodfather burn men and women alive for simply daring to question him, and she had borne the insult of being not good enough for her husband and his prophecies. She had borne all of that in the first four years of her marriage and then after the war she had thought Rhaegar might have tried to become a better husband, but he had not, instead he had continued to pursue his venture for another wife, and when she had asked him if it were due to his desire to fulfil the prophecy he had said it was not and that he no longer truly cared about the prophecy anymore, but after his actions some years before and with the Lannister woman, she found that she could no longer believe him, and as such had not truly cared when he had wed that slip of a girl Olene Tyrell.  Whilst she had known that it was something that most women would feel concerned about, their husband marrying a younger and more beautiful woman, and the threat that that woman and her children could pose to their own, Elia had found that she did not care, Rhaegar might think himself able to change the law, but she had foreseen that and had gotten him to swear before the current High Septon that he would do nothing that would threaten Aegon’s path to the throne when it came. The girl herself a wisp of a girl with air for brains had died giving birth to a girl who had also died some two weeks later.

She knew that at one point Rhaegar had thought of giving the old lion Tywin Lannister what he wanted and marrying the man’s daughter Cersei Lannister, but Rhaegar’s mother Rhaella had told her son that it would not do to offend the Tyrells who were also quite a big player at court by wedding Cersei Lannister and it would not do to offend the Lannisters by Wedding Janna Tyrell, and so at one point Bethany Redwyne had been considered, but then the war with the north and the Ironborn had broken out and all thoughts of marriage had left her husband. In that time Cersei Lannister was married to her cousin Ser Daven Lannister and Tywin Lannister made a bold move in asking Rhaegar to name Cersei his official heir to the Rock and not the man’s son Tyrion who soon disappeared though none not even the man’s father knew where he had gone. Bethany Redwyne married Matthis Rowan and so there was none for Rhaegar to marry. And then the second northern war happened and her husband had been captured during the war, his defenders, her uncle Prince Lewyn and Ser Brynden Tully cut down defending him, as well as countless others, her husband came back a different man, so much more introverted and in failing health, Tywin Lannister did much of the ruling in the period that came after Rhaegar’s return from the north, and during that time he had grown close to a girl Olene Tyrell, who was cousin to Mace and during that time he fell in love with her or something of the sort and wed her. Elia cared not, her children were safe and secure and yet she knew her brother and niece bristled and the insult done to her.

Her children Rhaenys and Aegon were the two things keeping her in King’s Landing and not letting her leave for Sunspear like she so desperately wanted. Rhaenys was bold and fierce, strong and proud, she reminded Elia a lot of Oberyn in that her fire and her looks were all Dornish there was none of Rhaegar’s passivity or naivety in her and she challenged and deeply angered her father on many occasions. Of course at one point Rhaegar had considered marrying Aegon and Rhaenys to one another, and yet at a word from Tywin Lannister the idea was quashed and Rhaenys was wed to Willas Tyrell the heir to Highgarden, a match that pleased the Tyrells and kept them onside. Aegon who would have been betrothed to Margaery Tyrell was therefore betrothed to Myrcella Lannister, the eldest daughter of Daven and Cersei Lannister. The girl was eleven years of age, smart and kind and gentle she was one of Princess Daenaerys ladies in waiting and as such Elia had met her a few times. As to her son, Aegon looked like Rhaegar but was more like her in personality and his outlook on life. Her son was quiet and somewhat shy around many people preferring to let his actions speak louder than his words. He preferred books to swords, but was fairly good with a sword, as a result of training with Ser Arthur Dayne who was now Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Her son she knew would soon face many a tough task, for Rhaegar was ailing and sooner or later Aegon would become king and when he did he would have to face many, many challenges.

Elia also had a few concerns about what her family in Dorne was planning, ever since Doran had died, her brother and her niece Arianne had become much more antagonistic towards Rhaegar and the Iron Throne, doing a lot more raiding along the borders with the Reach that caused Mace Tyrell to moan more and more and put not so subtle hints about Elia’s own role in the whole thing, to which she had none. Oberyn, she knew was the main driving force behind this whole new feeling in her homeland, her brother had never liked Rhaegar and had felt more angry about all that had occurred after Harrenhal then she had, Arianne had followed his lead for so long now, she supposed it was something that was simply in her bones. As to why her nieces Nymeria and Sarella were here, Elia did not have to think too hard even if Rhaegar did, and so she had asked them to her solar to speak with them. When there was a knock on the door, Elia called for them to come in and looked at both of them seeing Oberyn in them and knowing at that moment the true reason why they had both come to King’s Landing. “Nymeria, Sarella, please do sit down. Now I know we have not had much chance to speak since you arrived in King’s Landing a moon ago, but seeing as we have all been busy with our various activities, and such I think that is fair enough. But now that we are here, we might as well discuss your true purpose for coming here. What do my niece and brother has planned, and how bad is it?”

Both of her nieces are silent for a long moment, confirming her suspicions, and when Sarella speaks, Elia knows she is trying to sweeten the truth. “Arianne sent us here to see how you and Rhaenys and Aegon were doing Aunt Elia. She worries about you, we all do, here in King’s Landing with the crows circling night and day, and with Tywin Lannister hovering over the king’s shoulder surely you can understand why we would all be a bit concerned when we heard the king had wed Olene Tyrell.”

Elia smiles sadly at her nieces and says softly. “Yes I can understand your concern, but as I wrote to Arianne and said to Oberyn when he was last here, no matter how many wives or children Rhaegar has with other women, he cannot place them above Aegon or Rhaenys in the line of succession, no more than he can place them above Viserys or Daenaerys. He is bound by a holy oath done in front of the High Septon and five lords who all hold to the faith that he would not do such a thing. If he breaks that oath then he is no better than the northmen that he tries so hard to pain as savages.”

Nymeria snorts at that and then says. “And you can forgive us for not believing a word your husband says Aunt Elia. This is the same man who ran away with a girl who was betrothed to a man with connections to the Vale and the north, simply so that he could have some fun with her and fill up his love life. And this is the man who said he had wed Cersei Lannister and had it so that we all believed him just to get a reaction out of Uncle Doran before he died. You can see why we do not believe a word he says to you, or to anyone. And besides, his marriage to the Tyrell Whore would have been the work of the old harridan who flits around court whilst her son stutters from one blunder to the next. Sooner or later war will come, at the advice of the old lion or from someone else and Rhaegar Targaryen will try and attack Dorne.”

Elia sighs then and says. “Rhaegar would not be so foolish to declare war on Dorne, not now that he lacks the might to do so, and also whatever else he might be Rhaegar only wishes to bring back the north so that Robb Stark might rule from his rightful seat. Besides my children are half Dornish and I will not see my fellow countrymen’s bloodshed simply so that Rhaegar can invade it or so that Oberyn and Arianne can have some sort of revenge against Rhaegar. I will not allow more war and confusion to come to the lands my son stands to inherit.”

Sarella speaks then. “Then you might have to come to Dorne and tell Arianne and father that yourself. For they have already made plans to declare independence and end Dorne’s connection to the Iron Throne once and for all. They have all the lords and ladies of Dorne’s support as well including Lord Yronwood, and Prince Aelix has sworn himself to their cause as well. I know you do not like those who speak in riddles aunt Elia, so I will be blunt with you, we were sent to bring you back to Dorne. Rhaenys is wed to Willas Tyrell, that is all fair and rosy, but Aegon will not be safe, he is wed to a Lannister and Tywin Lannister might simply have it so that Aemon the bastard takes the throne over your own son. Freedom and safety would allow us to ally with the north and the islands and crush Rhaegar and the lions for good.”

Elia shakes her head then and says. “Can none of you see why doing such a thing would simply give Rhaegar another reason to disinherit Aegon and name Aemon his heir? What Arianne is planning is foolish and would cost more than anyone but Oberyn knows, and still he goes through with it as well. This plan will do nothing but ruin Dorne for years to come, and though we can hold off for many years, I will not have my son’s kingdom lessened even further, nor will I have him put at risk. No tell Arianne to call of this plan, and tell her that Ser Darin might say that the pirates and cutthroats he deals with are his and hers, they are mine and they will remain so. There will be no Dornish independence not now and not so long as my line sits the throne.”

“How will you convince Arianne to change her course Aunt Elia, let alone father? They both seem set on this war, and if I am honest I quite like the thought of it all as well.” Nymeria says.

Elia looks at her niece and says softly. “Rhaegar will soon be dead, and when he is Dorne will be more powerful at court than it has been since the days of Daeron the Good.”


	25. High Constable

**Jorah Mormont**

His brother had been king in the north for fifteen years now, and whilst at first the thought of kneeling to his little brother had grated on him a lot, Jorah had now become accustomed to doing so and was also very thankful that his brother had seen fit reward his experience and their familial ties with command over training the northern army and the various subdivisions that were part of it. Jorah had suggested to his brother that it might be good to have some small groups of standing forces that would be able to respond to a threat that could emerge to the north at quick notice whilst waiting for the rest of the northern army to fully mobilise, that had been an idea Barth had latched onto and so the standing armies were created and Jorah was given supreme command over them. The regiments that made up the standing northern army were the War Stallions commanded by the formidable Ser Mark Ryswell, The Winter Wolves commanded by Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Black Bears that Jorah himself commanded, the Shadow Cats commanded by Prince Theo Wull and the Forest Blades commanded by Ethan Glover. The regiments had bases at the Stony Shore, the Wolfswood, the Fever River and within Winterfell itself and as such trained and practiced daily, with skirmishes being organised amongst the people of the various parts of the north to give them combat practice.

The regiments had proven their use during the wars with the south, the last time the southerners invaded it was the Black Bears and the Shadow Cats that saw to the destruction of the outriders that Rhaegar Targaryen had sent in, and it was the Forest Blades and the Winter Wolves that wreaked havoc on the forces that came from the Fever River and led to the dragon king being captured. Such feats had won them a lot of praise and had made them seem like something worth wile and worthy of time, and as such they had attracted the attentions of second and third sons and those were simply hungry for glory, and so their standard of fighting continued to rise and the north remained secure, the southerners were still reeling from the various pains and hassles that their king had inflicted on them.

But with his professional life being so good, it seemed the gods had judged it only fair that his family life be less then peachy. Jorah having spent most of his son’s childhood in Winterfell training the men and women that would defend the north had not really been able to spend time with his son training him or teaching him the ways of life, like his own father had done with him and Barth. As such he did not really know his son all that well, and whilst Rickard was a big fellow and was much like Jorah’s nephew Jeor, Jorah knew there was a lot of residual anger within his son that was directed at Jorah for being not present for his son’s life. Whilst Jorah regretted that, there was not much he could truly do about it, for he had a duty to do, and he intended to carry it out to his full ability, if his son did not like it then he would just have to suck it up and deal with it like a real man.

The rest of his family seemed to be living quite happily and dealing with their own problems they way Mormonts had been dealing with them for centuries, speak about the problem if it was serious if it was not move on with your life and deal with the other challenges life had to offer. His brother Barth and his goodsister and nieces and nephews were all quite happy and there was a general feeling within the north that should Barth pass on, his son Brandon would do a very good job in keeping the north as peaceful and secure as it was at present. His aunt Maege and her own brood of Bear cubs, were fast growing up and doing their part to make sure Bear Island remained safe and secure, what with both Jorah and his father spending most of their time in Winterfell, Jorah’s Aunt Maege was essentially the de facto ruler of Bear Island for now. All these thoughts of family made Jorah think of why his brother could have called a meeting of both Jorah and their father Jeor as well as of his sons Brandon and Jeor the younger, he had asked his father as to why Barth had called this meeting, but his father had been none the wiser and so they had simply decided to see what it was that Barth would decide to speak to them about.

The doors to his brother’s solar opened and Barth walked in accompanied by Maester Luwin, Jorah’s brother seemed very tired, his brown hair had started going grey as had his beard, still he seemed very imposing. As Barth sat down and then asked them all to be seated, he spoke and his voice seemed very tired. “Father, brother, sons, you must all be wondering why it is that I have called you here today. As it is, I am not one for many words but before I speak in full about why I have asked you here, I must first tell you that there was a raven from one of our sources in King’s Landing, Rhaegar Targaryen is dead.”

There is silence and then Jeor the elder asks. “Did this source say how the dragon king died?”

Barth is silent for a moment and then he says. “He died in his sleep from the after effects of the wound he took during the last war with us. It seems that though the wound did heal in some aspects, in others it did not and as such he died from an infection that had slowly been weakening him. His son Aegon has ascended the throne, and as such will soon be wed to Myrcella Lannister. The source in King’s Landing reports that there are some at court who whisper that Rhaegar Targaryen might have been helped on his way to the grave by the Lannisters or perhaps by his own wife Elia Martell. But that is not the true reason as to why I have asked you here.”

“So then why have you asked all here father, if not to speak of Rhaegar Targaryen and his death?” Jorah’s nephew Brandon asks.

Barth looks at his eldest son then and says. “There has been word from the Wall. It appears Lord Commander Qorgyle has died and as such the black brothers it seems are considering naming Donnor Stark’s grandson Cregan as Lord Commander, and that man means to let the wildlings through the wall and settle them on the gift. Such a thing would cause a huge storm, especially considering what happened the last time the watch tried to work with the wildlings. Though we cannot truly interfere with the watch and its affairs, I have sent a man there to oversee the elections, and also to see just how strong the watch is, should the wildlings invade once more.”

“Do you think the wildlings will invade father?” Jeor the younger asks, his voice seemingly excited. “After all they have not done so since the times of Raymun Redbeard, I had thought they were still so very disorganised and that that was something that would keep  them busy and away from us?”

Jorah’s father, Jeor the elder speaks then his voice gruff. “Aye, they will. The Wildlings are a stubborn people. They might war with one another more frequently than with us, but they know one thing that will unite them unlike anything else, a belief that they should live south of the wall. There is some former brother of the Night’s Watch Mance Rayder I believe his name is, who has been gathering the different wildling clans together and winning their allegiance. If I remember correctly he was quite a good friend of Cregan Stark’s before the man abandoned his post. As such this move could be what finally gives the wildlings the way to move through the north and break and take the south as well. As such they cannot be allowed to do so.”

“What do you suggest we do then grandfather?” Brandon asks. “We cannot interfere with the Watch’s election process nor can we claim the gift from them. We either have to have someone in the Watch who will do as we ask or we must have someone kill Mance Rayder.”

That is when Barth looks at Jorah and says. “Well, then we know what course of action we must take. Mance Rayder cannot be allowed to move beyond the wall and the Watch cannot elect Cregan. We must deal with the threat, and the Shadow Cats are the ones most suited to the job. I want them sent out at first light tomorrow.”


	26. Geronimo

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

He had been hand of the king for three kings, serving a combined total of forty three years, the kings he had served under had been of mixed skills and mixed temperament. Aerys had started off being a good king with a wise head on his shoulders, a man whom Tywin had thought would be as good as Jaehaerys the conciliator had been, but then Duskendale had happened and Aerys had lost his sanity and in its place had come a man who seemed more Maegor the Cruel than Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Aerys had died drinking wildfire thinking that it would turn him into a dragon and as such his son Rhaegar, a man all had thought would be the best king since the Conciliator himself had actually caused the war that had brought about Aerys end. That Rhaegar had won the war against Robert Baratheon, was more a chance of luck than actual skill on the bard king’s part, for Rhaegar was more of a scholar and an administrator than a warrior, as evidenced by three failed campaigns against two kingdoms that had declared independence. Tywin had thought that perhaps there might have been a chance to have Cersei finally take her rightful place as queen alongside Rhaegar, but that had not happened and Tywin had lost patience and wed Cersei to Daven Lannister his goodbrother Stafford’s son, and had asked Rhaegar through the means that a lion had, to name Cersei his heir, not that dwarf of a son Tyrion who he had made sure had disappeared from sight before he had asked Rhaegar to do the deed, Jaime was sworn to the Kingsguard and as such had failed to complete the family legacy but that mattered little. As to Rhaegar’s son Aegon, the lad had actually turned out to be much smarter than both his father and grandfather and even perhaps his great grandfather, the lad knew his stuff, he knew how to play the game and he actually listened to what advice Tywin gave him and saw the holes in the arguments where before Rhaegar and Aerys merely listened and did not think. That Aegon had agreed to wed Myrcella, Tywin’s granddaughter when his father had hesitated on the issue just showed how keen a sense of politics he had, and that they had quickly sealed the deal by marrying shortly after Aegon was crowned king and had produced two sons Jaehaerys and Baelor showed the smartness in the king.

King Aegon the sixth of his name had ruled for ten years, crowned on the great Sept of Baelor, the king’s reign had seen issues with Dorne resolved as with the King being half Dornish and possibly having had a part in his father’s death, Princess Arianne the ruling princess of Dorne suddenly became much more willing to accept a marriage between herself and the king’s uncle Prince Viserys something that ended the tension between the king and his uncle as well as ensuring that Dorne no longer wished to break away. As to relations with the independent kingdoms of the north and the Iron Islands, the king it seemed had played a patient game, Balon Greyjoy had died five years into the king’s reign and as such that had been when the king had decided to push forward with his might to end the Ironborn’s control over the Arbor, the Shield Islands and the Sunset Seat. As such he had been largely successful, the Arbor and the Shield Islands had been freed, and the Sunset Sea had been freed of pirates, though Theon Greyjoy lived on as king of the Iron Islands what with Pyke having broken the Royal Fleet at the last moment and the king himself taking a near fatal wound before a proper incursion could be ordered. Still the Ironborn had lost two of their most feared commanders in Euron and Victarion Greyjoy and as such sometime soon their independence would be ended.  As to the north, the king hesitated over what to do there, whilst he was good friends with Lord Robb Stark, he also knew what it had cost the kingdoms to constantly wage war with the north and never come close to winning, and so he made sure that there were strongholds built up around the neck that could withstand any possible northern invasion attempt, and he made sure that the spies Varys had in the north were supplanted with more closer to the southern friendly northern lords. Sooner or later though something would need to be done about the north, for just as with the Iron Islands, there could only be one king and as such Tywin did not want his blood ruling over only five of the seven kingdoms, he wanted what the conqueror wanted and that was to have all seven kingdoms ruled by a single dynasty, a dynasty that would have Lannister blood in it.

As to his actual family, well Tywin knew he had always been a harsh man when it came to his family and the family legacy, he wanted his children and his other family members to do their bit in ensuring the legacy was not tarnished and was enhanced, as such when Jaime constantly refused to retake his place as the heir to the Rock, Tywin had disinherited him completely and now refused to acknowledge him, it did not bother him that it seemed petty, his son had had a duty and he had relinquished it, he could remain to glorified body guard. As to his second son, or the kinslayer, Tyrion had been a drunkard and but a smart one at that and that had grated on Tywin to no end, but thankfully he had arranged for an accident to befall his second son and then once it had been confirmed that the dwarf would not be returning to the Westerlands, he had gone and convinced the king to name his daughter Cersei his heir. His daughter was a smart woman, though there were times when her emotions got the better of her and made it so that she could not be a true player of the game. She knew how to use her assets to her advantage and her marriage to Daven had produced four children, Tommem who was a smart lad if but a tad shy who had been born in the 285th year after Aegon’s Landing and was now twenty and four and with children of his own having wed Saera Tyrell the daughter of Willas and Rhaenys Tyrell, there was Myrcella who was Tommem’s twin who had had four children with the king she was smart and much more in control of her emotions than her mother, as to the two other children Tywin knew them not though he knew that they too would be useful in the games to come.

As the door to the council chamber opened and the king walked in followed by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Arthur Dayne, Tywin pushed his thoughts aside and waited for what the king had to say. The other members of the small council all stood with Tywin, there was master of laws Lord Randyll Tarly who had been there since the beginning of the king’s father’s reign, master of coin Tywin’s own brother Ser Kevan Lannister, master of whispers Varys a sly man and one Tywin knew to keep an eye on, then there was Grand Maester Gormon who had replaced Pycelle a man who had died five years ago. The king nodded for them to all sit down and then spoke his voice sounding tired. “Thank you all for coming today my lords. It has been awhile since we last met, and though the hour is late I would hear what news there is of my kingdom and what other news there is that might be of interest.”

Grand Maester Gormon read from the letters he had in front of him. “There has been a raven from the Prince of Pentos one Illyrio Mopatis, it seems that he desires to develop closer ties either economically or politically with you Your Grace, and wishes to know what he can do to do this.”

The king looks at the grand maester for a moment before turning to Varys and asking. “What do your little birds have to say on the man Varys? Is he reliable and trustworthy or does he means to use us for a way to get his hands on what is not his?”

The eunuch is silent for a long moment before he says in that slithery voice of his. “From what my little birds tell me, the man seems to be very honourable in terms of his dealings with various people and the various agreements he has reached with the other free cities have ended up benefitting both parties. I would say pursuing  this line of dealing would be very useful Your Grace, and could open up a chance to finally claim the Stepstones as well.”

The king nods and then turns to Kevan and asks him. “How is the royal treasury looking Ser Kevan, do we have enough dragons to be able to afford going through with stage two of this possible deal?”

Kevan looks at his notes briefly and then says. “We have some 800,000 dragons in the vaults Your Grace. Depending on what terms Magister Illyrio wishes to set for this deal then we could afford it. Of course I would suggest asking for more specific details before we debate the matter further.”

The king nods and then says. “Maester Gormon see to that if you will, now what news from the north and the Iron Islands?”

Varys speaks once more. “Theon Greyjoy is ailing Your Grace, he took a wound fighting pirates in Essos some five moons ago and it seems the wound has begun to play up once more. His son Harlon does not have the support needed to successfully succeed him, and there are rumours that Urrigon Greyjoy Theon’s uncle means to make a bid for the crown. Now would be the perfect chance to bring the Islands back into the fold. As to the North, they remain strong as ever, the Night’s Watch chose the notably pro northern Bowen Marsh as it’s lord Commander in a recent election after the death of Denys Mallister, though there does seem to be potential wildling invasion on the horizon, which could leave the north up for the taking as well.”

The king is silent for a moment before he says. “I want Theon Greyjoy dead before the end of the moon and then we shall talk about more war.” And with that the council meeting ends and Tywin knows there will be fighting soon enough.


	27. Here Come the Vultures

**Prince Brandon Mormont**

He had not been born a prince, in fact when Brandon Mormont heir to Winterfell and the north had been born his father had been but a second son of Jeor Mormont the Lord of Bear Island, a small though not insignificant house in the north, and as such Brandon had not had that much to look forward to. And then Robert’s Rebellion happened, and the Starks were all wiped out par Robb Stark, and the northern lords not wanting to be led by a southern puppet declared Brandon’s father king, this had of course made Brandon a Prince and the heir to the most powerful seat in the north. Something that came with great responsibility and something he had been taught to appreciate and be ready for, for though his father was the greatest warrior Westeros had seen since Aemon the Dragonknight and Cregan Stark, at least as far as Brandon was concerned, his father was not a god, and therefore might fall in battle or any of the other countless things that seemed to be plaguing the north behind the scenes. And so Brandon had been trained by his father and his uncle in the ways of warfare from a young age, his father had also imparted words of wisdom about respecting those who they ruled over and that they in turn would respect you for doing so. Brandon was not a fool, he knew that there were those particularly in White Harbour who still clamoured for the return of the Starks and the return of Robb Stark, but the overwhelming majority of the northern lords seemed to have willingly accepted his father and their family as the new rulers of the north, he supposed that was what happened when you were a great warrior and also had beaten back the Targaryens back twice, and had managed to raise the living standards of the northern people.

Brandon himself had been happily married for some nineteen years now, to his cousin Dacey. His cousin and wife was a smart and very capable woman, who knew her way around a battleground as well as a bed, and for that Brandon loved her. They knew what they were doing now, being married from the age of thirteen does that to a person, you get to learn their most intimate thoughts and desires as if they were your own, that was what Brandon had learnt. They could finish each other’s sentences and could even look at each other and know what the other was thinking. It was a good marriage and one Brandon was glad his father and grandfather had decided should go ahead. Their two sons Osrick and Torrhen had grown up into fine young men, Osrick was confident and bold, willing to do things that Brandon would never have thought of doing as a young lad, he was more like Brandon’s brother Jeor in that regard, bear or wolf blooded, Torrhen his second son was more like Brandon calm and thoughtful more willing to think before he spoke or acted. They were good lads and they would make could lords and kings when their time came. As to the rest of Brandon’s siblings, well Jeor the younger as Brandon’s eldest brother was known was a boisterous man whose nature had been somewhat tempered with age and with marriage and fatherhood. His brother had settled down and quite clearly enjoyed being the Lord of White Harbour and acting alongside his wife Wynafryd Manderly in ensuring that White Harbour remained loyal to Winterfell and the north. Their children, Eddard, Cregard and Saera were all good young people who knew what was what, and Wynafryd was a good and smart woman who knew her way around politics. As to Brandon’s younger siblings, Branda was wed to Domeric Bolton the new Lord of the Dreadfort after his father had finally died, and they had five children, Barth, Lyarra, Donnor, Lonnel and Bethany and they were all happy. As to Maege, well she was a spitfire his youngest sister, more Ironborn than northern now, she loved her husband Theon and with him had some three children who Brandon had never met before but worried about nonetheless. As to Brandon’s youngest brother Torrhen, well he remained wild and free, having not settled down and roaming around the north and the free cities and the lands beyond the wall, he most likely had bastards in a few places but still he knew when to come back home to the pack.

Something that seemed to be a good thing now, considering the recent developments in the north in the past five years. The Ironborn had lost a great deal of their strength and there was word that Brandon’s nephew might be facing a challenge for his throne from his great uncle Urrigon something that might lead to war, and the death of his nephew and nieces, but due to the fact that there was things going on in the north as well there was not much Brandon or his father had been able to do, apart from hope and pray Theon Greyjoy might hold onto life for a bit longer. As to the north itself, there was peace in the lands south of the wall, the northern lords knew what was what and there was little doubt that there would be peace in the main north for many more years to come, but it was in the lands beyond the wall that Brandon had the most concerns about. The wildlings had been mustering in force for some time, first under Mance Rayder and then when he had died, slain by Qhorin Halfhand, under Tormund Giantsbane a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Soon enough he would bring the wildlings through the wall whether the watch did its job or not and as such Brandon worried about whether or not they would be able to deal with a threat to the north as well as to the south.

Something that had only been exacerbated by the fact that  Aegon Targaryen King in the South had finally decided to invade the north, and so had brought men to assault the Neck, and with Howland Reed’s death and his son being crippled during the fighting, the southerners had brought their force through the neck and were marching fast through toward Winterfell. They were currently assailing Moat Cailin as far as Brandon was aware, and so Brandon’s father had sent the Winter Wolves, the Shadow Cats and the Forest Blades out to harass them, and had assembled his strength at Winterfell. And from there they had marched toward the Barrowlands where they had set up shop and so it was here that Brandon’s father had called for a war council. As it were as well as Brandon, his father, his grandfather, his uncle, and younger brothers, there was Lord Harrion Karstark, Lord Willam Dustin, Lord Domeric Bolton, the Greatjon Umber and Lord Roger Ryswell. Brandon’s father spoke first. “We all know what is happening, Aegon Targaryen believes he can break through the moat and do what no southerner has ever done before. He is wrong, and I mean to show him that. First though we must know what is happening in the south? Lord Ryswell?”

Roger Ryswell was a stout man, all bluster and no thinking, but he knew his job well. “Martyn Cassel is dead Your Grace, slain trying to lead a sortie to break through the Targaryen siege. His sons remain within the Moat but they are fast losing food as their supplies are broken or taken by the Targaryens. The cranongmen are in disarray what with Howland Reed’s death and his son’s crippling. The man’s daughter has been captured and as such none know what exactly to do.”

King Barth sighed then and said. “That is a lot worse than I thought it would be. Nonetheless we now know what must be done. Send word to Pyke, I want Ironborn ships sailing up the Fever River to block the pass so that no reinforcements can come for the boy and his men. They have assaulted my people and I mean to make them pay for it.”

There was some murmuring at that and then Brandon’s uncle asked. “What will you do then Your Grace? The cranongmen could have served as a good distraction whilst the wolves, the cats and the blades assaulted them from the front, but now that the cranongmen are bleeding them, we might not have the element of surprise that we have had in the past. Aegon Targaryen is not his father, he will know where to hit us, and soon enough we might face more trouble than we know how to deal with.”

Brandon looks at his father and sees the determination in his face when he replies. “I know that brother. I also know that the longer we sit here doing nothing, the stronger the Targaryen boy and his men grow. We must remove them as a threat and we must do it now, otherwise we shall see that there is nothing we can actually do. There is still a chance we can push them back into the hell they come from if we act now. That is why I shall send the Black Bears and the War Stallions out as well, you shall leave today and tomorrow the rest of the army shall march and we shall crush them.”

And so it was that they marched out as the sun was rising the next day, a quick march through the swamps of the Barrowlands and the bogs and the nicks brought them open battle at Moat Cailin. The men were tired but the sight of the southerners threatening their homes brought something out of them that could not be matched otherwise. Nothing like a man feeling threatened to bring out the animal in him, that was what happened. Brandon drew his sword and led the charge through the swarms of battle already going on, swinging his sword left, right, and centre, cutting through man after man, swinging left, right and centre, men fell before him and they continued to fall, he felt as if he was floating on something akin to air as the battle raged on around him. Men were screaming around him, but still he goes on, he might have been hit a few times but still he goes on, fighting swinging and hacking until there are none left to fight, at least not in front of him.

He rides on swinging his sword as he goes on bringing down more and more men, he brings down a white knight and then another and he has a suspicion that the southern king is somewhere close by. He is proven right when he sees Aegon Targaryen, dressed in red armour, swinging his sword like a man possessed. Brandon rides out to meet the Targaryen king and they engage in a fierce duel. Swinging their swords as fast they can they swing, hack, and slash and parry and on and on it goes. Swinging their swords, smashing through defences, seeing which one of them will break first, they keep going on and on, fighting at its best. Swinging, hacking and slashing, cutting, ducking and dodging, they go on and on. The fight seems to take an age but in reality it merely lasts a few moments, before Brandon has managed to break through Aegon Targaryen’s defences and has lodged his sword through the man’s armour and into his heart.

Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard rallies the Targaryen forces and the fighting lasts for several more hours, so much more bloodshed occurs and when Brandon comes across the man known as the Golden Lion they fight on and on and on and on, neither one breaking against the other, before they pull apart both quite injured and perhaps not near enough to fight anymore. The Lannister knight leads the retreat though after a severe battering, Brandon learns from his brother that their father died killing Ser Arthur Dayne his body is found with a sword through it, Ice through Dayne. Aegon Targaryen is dead as are several other notables on the Targaryen and Northern side and yet Robb Stark lives and Brandon knows that war will come again and soon. When he rides home it takes two moons but on the first day of the eight month of the 309th year After Aegon’s Landing, Brandon Mormont is crowned King of the North. Whilst in King’s Landing King Aegon’s nine year old son Baelor is crowned Baelor II Targaryen King of Westeros. The fighting will continue but for how long?


	28. Golden Queen

**Queen Regent Myrcella Targaryen**

It had been six years since Aegon’s death, and though Myrcella still missed her husband, the pain of his loss had been numbed somewhat with time. Her husband had been taken from this world far too young, he had been twenty seven when he had died and in a lost cause, something that Myrcella had never been able to understand, her husband had never truly wanted to retake the north but had organised a campaign simply so that his family would not be remembered for losing the north. After his death the situation in the south had been complicated, as it always was with a babe for a king, Baelor, her and Aegon’s eldest son had been put nine years old when his father had died and as such Myrcella had found herself as his regent until he reached majority. This then meant that there were so many ambitious lords trying to win her over so that they might try to rule through her and her son, of course Myrcella was the granddaughter of the old lion Tywin Lannister and as such had seen how he had handled those who had ambitions, and so with a smile here a nice word there, she had made it clear she would not let anyone interfere with her son’s reign nor would she accept power be taken away from her or her grandfather. Tywin Lannister continued to serve as hand, and together they managed to ensure that the south did not embark on open revolt, as such marriages were arranged and members of the royal family were married, Baelor himself was betrothed to Bethany Arryn the daughter of Robert Arryn and Lyselle Waynwood, her second son Jaehaerys had been betrothed to and had now wed his cousin Saera, who was Prince Aemon’s daughter through his marriage to Sansa Connington. These marriages had provided a way in which to ensure that the realm was kept happy, and officially recognising Robb Stark as the rightful Lord of Riverrun, after his uncle Edmure’s death without issue in the last war had helped solidify the riverlands to their cause.

Her children were all very different people, Baelor her eldest looked exactly like Aegon had with his silver hair, aquiline features and purple eyes, he was an absolute rogue, someone who liked to wind people up but also knew when to rein it in and do his duty. Jaehaerys was much more quiet and reserved compared to his older brother, he preferred immersing himself in either books or weaponry and did not truly spend all that much time at court, preferring to live at Dragonstone, that he looked more like her with his blond hair and sharp Lannister cheekbones only made his reserved personality more apparent. As to her daughters, Visenya was wild and wilful and often did what she wanted when she wanted, she listened to no one who tried to tell her what to do, apart from if it were Jaehaerys only then did she listen, Myrcella had a hard time trying to decide whom she should wed and as such she had remained unbetrothed, though her younger sister, the much more quiet and lady like Daella had been betrothed to Harlan Tyrell the heir to Highgarden and as such they were to wed quite soon. Her children had all grown up so quickly it truly surprised her sometimes when she stopped to think about it,  Baelor was fifteen soon to be sixteen and would be able to rule in his own right soon, Jaehaerys would also be sixteen soon and would need to be brought to court soon enough. Visenya was thirteen and Daella twelve, they were both flowered but were completely different in personalities.

Myrcella still remembered how after Aegon’s death, her own mother who had come to court soon after Myrcella’s marriage had tried to get Myrcella to give the regency to her, saying that Myrcella was too young to have to shoulder such a burden. Myrcella though had known her mother would simply try and do things that would benefit her and not their house nor her son, and so she had refused to do such a thing. When her mother had begun protesting, Myrcella had ordered her back to Casterly Rock, where her father Ser Daven had remained and as such she had not spoken to her mother, though she was not completely sorry for that.  As to the court itself, there was a fairer mix of lords and ladies than there has been during her husband and goodfather’s reigns. There was more of feeling of unity behind her son then there had been behind her husband and his father, and as such gossip and rumours were rather thin though when they did emerge Myrcella knew where to go to find out the real truth, something that had helped her put pay to any attempts at removing her from the regency.

Of course with her son soon to become a man grown, he had begun attending council meetings fairly regularly and he had shown some understanding of the game and of politics even if he did not completely understand all of what was happening. Still he had called a council meeting and as such Myrcella did wonder why he had called it when the preparations for his coronation had all been sorted and arranged moons ago, still as she walked with him and her own uncle Ser Jaime Lannister the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard trailing behind them, she thought she might have a slight inkling as to the purpose of the meeting. They entered the council chamber and the members of the council all stood up, you had the hand of the king Lord Tywin Lannister looking as regal as ever, master of laws Lord Stannis Baratheon a man who was more ironrod in his sense of right and wrong than Lord Randyll had been, master of ships was Lord Monterys Velaryon a man who had proven his worth many times, master of coin was her great uncle Ser Kevan Lannister a smart man, master of whispers was Lord Varys and Grand Maester Gormon brought the whole thing to a close. They were seated and then Baelor spoke in that great booming voice of his. “I thank you all for coming today my lords, lady mother. I know that the preparations for the coronation have all been finalised and that the coronation shall be held on the first day of the New Year as to coincide with my day of birth. However, that is not why I am here, I wish to know how things stand in my kingdom and how they stand in those kingdoms that remain out of our reach.”

Lord Tywin spoke first, his voice soft but commanding. “At present there is peace and plenty throughout the kingdom Your Grace. The people are seeing the fruits of their labour after a long hard winter and spring, the royal treasury are overfilling with gold from taxes and trade. And the royal fleet is as strong as it has ever been.”

Her son nodded and then asked. “And what of the north and the Iron Islands how do they fare?”

Lord Varys speaks then and says. “The north remains as strong as ever Your Grace. Brandon Mormont is continuing the good work both his father and grandfather put in before him. Though there does loom the constant threat of a wildling invasion it does not seem as if it will happen, for the wildlings continue to remain divided amongst one another. Whereas in the Iron Islands, it seems Urrigon Greyjoy has finally gotten enough support to mount a rebellion against his great nephew Harlon. There has been fighting on Old Wyk and Harlaw between those loyal to Harlon and those loyal to Urrigon.”

Myrcella sees her son move forward and she knows exactly what he is about to say before he says it. “Then we must move in, we shall never have a better chance to reclaim what is rightfully ours. The Iron Islands will be made to see that they belong back in the fold not out of it. Send word to Lord Redwyne, I want his fleet ready by the end of the month, Lord Monterys prepare the Royal Fleet, and I want ravens sent out. This time the Ironborn will know what it means to cross the dragon.”

There are a lot of nods but then Lord Tywin speaks voicing his concerns. “Would it not be more prudent to wait Your Grace? Wait for the islanders to be so beaten and broken from fighting one another that they can’t fight you? That way they won’t be able to put up much resistance and the islands will fall back into the throne’s possession much easier. Going now will only unite them not weaken them.”

It is good and sensible advice, and yet her son is a young man, hot headed as well. “We have waited for too long, I will not wait for it to fall into my lap, my father would never have done that nor would Daeron the Young Dragon and nor shall I. Send the ravens out and we shall bring the Islands back into the fore as soon as possible, and then we shall take the north.” And with that Myrcella fears her son’s destiny has been sealed.


	29. A Dance With Honour

**Lord Robb Stark**

His whole life he had grown up with the shadow of his family name hanging over him, growing up with the knowledge that he did not truly belong in the south but rather in the north along with his mother had been something that as a child Robb had quickly come to learn and accept. That his rightful bannermen had betrayed him and his family and sworn allegiance to a family that his own had raised up to their position of power, simply stung and made him long for Winterfell and the north with an intensity that he had never truly had for anything else. It was not something that he could simply turn off, it was something that seemed to consume him at times, this urge to head north and take his birthright back, that he could not and that he most likely would never live to see his father’s home, only made him hurt more and it had over the years turned him into quite a somber and reserved man, someone who did not truly speak his thoughts aloud unless it was to either his wife or his mother.

He had been raised in Griffin’s Roost and King’s Landing and as such had come to appreciate the southern values that he knew would be frowned upon in the north. Things such as knighthood and chivalry had been what had kept him anchored and sane during the years when his mind and body would have driven him to do dishonourable things. Growing up in the south as well had also given him a better understanding of politics and the games that were played in King’s Landing, something that had stood him in good stead during the various games that he and his wife had been forced into playing when they had been at court under the reign of King Rhaegar. Robb’s step father Jon Connington had been a good man from what Robb could remember of him, he had done his bit to ensure Robb and Robb’s mother felt comfortable in King’s Landing and away from where they would have been had things gone better for Robb’s actual father during the war. Once Jon Connington died, Robb moved to King’s Landing and it was there that he became good friends with the former King Aegon, they had been thick as thieves getting into all kinds of mischief, and had trained together, Aegon had been his best friend at court, along with Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon they were all a big gang that operated together and maintained friendships long after their days at court ended. As to his cousin Prince Aemon, Robb had only met the Prince once, for he lived at Dragonstone under the eye of his grandmother Queen Dowager Rhaella, and as such had only come to King’s Landing to compete in the tourney that was held to celebrate the wedding of Princess Rhaenys and Willas Tyrell.

Robb had married Princess Daenaerys, (who many thought was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, something that Robb fully agreed with) when he had turned sixteen and having grown up along with her, they knew each other very well and already loved each other before getting married. His wife was his most trusted confidant and someone he knew how to be free around, she made him smile and laugh in the way none else had been able to do, and he treated her like the goddess she truly was. They spoke about everything and did whatever they could for their children. Robb’s oldest son Hoster had been born at the beginning of the new century, auburn of hair and violet of eye, his son and heir had grown up without the shadow of Winterfell and a legacy hanging over him. Of that Robb had been determined to ensure, and as such his son was much freer with his thoughts and feelings though he still held to the same code of honour that Robb did. Robb’s second son Brynden, named after the uncle Robb had respected the most, was more reserved and calmer than his older brother and was often someone who played the voice of reason in the arguments that Robb’s children were wont to have. His only daughter Minisa named after the grandmother he had never met was a sweet girl who was the perfect lady as well as being just like her mother in terms of her fire and her strength of mind. Robb loved his family with all his heart and did all he could to make sure they felt safe and secure. His eldest son Hoster had wed Janei Lannister some two years ago and as such had had a daughter whom he had named Catelyn after Robb’s own mother, as to Brynden well his second son was betrothed to Denyse Bracken the heiress to Stone Hedge, as for Minisa Robb was still looking for someone to betroth her to, though she was only twelve and as such there was plenty of time before he had to truly start thinking of matches for her.

Having grown up in a time of war, Robb had not been completely surprised when he had become Lord of Riverrun following his uncle Edmure’s death during the last war with the north, a war that had been quite costly and as such when he had become Lord of Riverrun he had done his best to get to know the people who would be helping him run Riverrun whilst he was out of the place and whilst he was there as well, and it seemed such a thing had done him a world of good, for he now had their unwavering loyalty as well as that of his usually quarrelsome bannermen. Something he supposed had been aided by the leadership he had displayed during the campaign against the Iron Islands. A campaign that his friend’s son King Baelor had waged three years ago, that had seen Robb lead many of the sorties through the breach and it had been Robb who had slain Harlon Greyjoy himself, giving Urrigon Greyjoy Pyke as well as bringing the islands back into the kingdoms under the Iron Throne’s domain. King Baelor had named him to the small council following that, and as such Robb served as master of laws following Randyll Tarly’s death during the storming of Pyke. The other small council members included hand of the King Lord Willas Tyrell who had replaced Tywin Lannister who had died from all things a fever, master of ships Lord Stannis Baratheon, master of coin Ser Kevan Lannister, Grand Maester Gormon, Master of Whispers Lord Varys and finally Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Jaime Lannister. Once the king entered the small council chamber and bid them all sit, he spoke. “I thank you all for coming my lords. It has been three years since we regained the Iron Islands, and in those three years there has been plenty of peace in the south, the raidings have ended and Urrigon Greyjoy seems to be happy serving us though I suspect he might want to break free sometime soon. We must not give him reason to do so, and as such I have decided we must bring the north back into the fold as well. Lord Varys present to the council the findings you showed me.”

Lord Varys a slippery customer if ever there was one, Robb did not trust him, but supposed that the man was doing his job then, his voice was silky as ever when he spoke. “The north is currently busy fighting a wildling invasion that is being led by Tormund Giantsbane. My sources tell me the Night’s Watch was beaten at the battle of the Bridge of Skulls, their lord Commander and most of their numbers slaughtered by the combined might of the wildlings and what other else they brought south with them. There has already been fighting between the Umbers and the Wildling hordes, Lord Umber the Greatjon I believe he is called was slain by Giantsbane, and the Umber forces were broken, the wildlings are burning their way through the north and as such Brandon Mormont is marshalling his forces to repel them. Now if any is the perfect time to strike.”

Ser Kevan speaks then and asks. “Has Brandon Mormont left the Moat unguarded, for it the Cassels are still present you can be guaranteed that Edrick Cassel will not allow us to pass through. They will have learnt their lessons from last time we invaded the north, and as such we shall need to go by sea, which means finally testing the loyalties of the Ironborn. I am not sure if that is a risk that we should take Your Grace.”

Unsurprisingly Stannis Baratheon speaks up in agreement with Ser Kevan. “What Ser Kevan says makes a lot of sense Your Grace. Whilst the Royal fleet is much improved from the times of your grandfather, the Redwyne Fleet would need to sail up round the Iron Islands, and if Urrigon Greyjoy should decide to attack the Fleet then that would delay a great part of any attack on the north. White Harbour shall also be much stronger than it was during the times of your grandfather as well, and with the north having its own fleet then we could be seeing much more carnage and chaos than previous wars have brought.”

The king does not look happy with these responses and voices his opinions as such. “Aye there might be uncertainty with the Iron Islands, but we shall never know unless we actually try and see what will happen. I will not sit here cowering on the Iron Throne simply because a bunch of savages have beaten both my father and grandfather before. They are distracted and busy right now, and as such it is the right time to take the north back for the Iron Throne. It worked with the Iron Islands, and it shall work with the north I am certain it will.”

Surprisingly Lord Tyrell speaks up in favour of the king, when normally he would suggest a moderate course. “I believe his grace is right to want to act now. The north will never be as weak and open for the taking as it is now. The wildlings to the best of my knowledge will keep fighting and burning until there is nothing left of the north, we must act now if we want any further attempts to retake the north to mean anything. We cannot hesitate anymore my lords, it must be done.”

The king nods at his uncle by marriage and then looks to Robb and asks him. “Lord Stark what say you?”

Robb is silent for a moment as he thinks on everything that has happened during his life because of one man’s decision, and then he thinks on what he felt as a child growing up not belonging anywhere, and it is the most agonising decision he has ever had to make. Finally in a voice so soft the rest of the council has to lean forward to hear what he says, he replies. “It is the right time to invade Your Grace, we shall never have a better opportunity.”


	30. Dead To The World

**Lady Wynafryd Manderly**

Sometimes at night she can still hear the sounds of her city being destroyed by the southerners, by those who had declared her home and her people savages that needed to be removed from the earth or converted. Her grandfather had been someone who had wanted to remain ties with the south in a north that was increasingly coming to hate the south for all it had cost them, and he had paid the price for that belief. Her father had died during the war and her mother had been taken captive and raped by those who had professed to following the seven, Wynafryd remembers praying in the Sept of Snow for the seven to come and save her family and her people, and when they did not answer and her city and her family was burned and destroyed she came to the realisation that the seven were false, they were not the true gods and they were not going to answer any of her prayers. This realisation had made her believe even more in the gods that held the true power in the north, the old gods, the weirwood trees where the silence was answer enough for prayers. Her mother and uncle had been disturbed by her sudden lack of faith in what they had been raised to believe was the right way, her grandfather though had understood why she had lost her faith and in some sense had encouraged her lose her faith in the seven in order to prepare for the coming storm that would hit the north. When her grandfather had died and she had become Lady of White Harbour she had ordered the Sept of Snow destroyed, for the sept had become a cursed place to her and a place that she no longer wished to be associated with, that she was wed to a prince of the north only reinforced her views that White Harbour was done with the seven.

Her husband Prince Jeor Mormont known as Jeor the Younger or the Angry bear, was a  good kind man, though his title had been earnt in battle where he had supposedly slain many men during a fit of rage, given how long they had been married for Wynafryd had no doubt that he could be as viscous as the sigil on his house. Theirs was a caring and loving relationship and they worked well as a foil to one another, Wynafryd with ensuring that her city and people prospered and that they kept a foot in the game in the north, and her husband in making sure that their defences were always up to speed and that the navy of the north was as strong as it possibly could be. Their children were like the different parts of both them mixed together, Eddard Wynafryd’s heir and named for a true northern hero, was quiet and solemn but he was also smart, his brother Cregard was loud and boisterous and acted as the front for his older brother making sure that whatever he asked for was done, as to her daughter Saera she was a sweet girl who knew how to charm people something that would stand her in good stead as the future lady of the Dreadfort. As to Wynafryd’s younger sister Wylla, her sister had taken inspiration from the Mormont women and taken up arms and had spent more time fighting in various skirmishes than actually looking for someone to marry not that Wynafryd particularly minded considering their uncle Wendel had wed Sybelle Fenn and had sired children on her.

Of course the wildlings had finally come south of the wall as they had been threatening to do for the past fifteen years, and so King Brandon had called his banners and marched to deal with them, he had instructed Wynafryd and the lords and ladies under her command to hold the south incase of a southern invasion, and just as he had thought Baelor Targaryen had landed on the outskirts of White Harbour with a contingent of men and was raiding the southernmost coast of the North as well as having a force of men assaulting the Neck once more. Wynafryd had called her banners and so far some 2,000 men had come to the city to answer her call as they got ready for war once more. The lords in attendance were Lord Elton Woolfield, Ser Andrew Locke and Marcus Flint. Wynafryd spoke first. “I thank you all for coming my lords. As you know Edrick Cassel is doing his best to hold the moat against Baelor Targaryen and his men. Of course another force with the Targaryen banner is assaulting our lands, and as such we must discuss what must needs be done. I have sent my husband out to rally more men to bring them to the city before we move, but we must move quickly.”

Elton Woolfield an old and grizzled man spoke first. “We must act quickly, you are right my lady. The more time we spend debating what we should do, the longer we give Baelor Targaryen or if it is his brother Jaehaerys, time to come to terms with the climate of the north and time to bring us to more destruction.”

Lord Marcus Flint speaks then and asks. “Who would lead the forces that march south to deal with Baelor Targaryen or whoever it is that is leading the forces of the south my lady?”

“Prince Jeor Mormont of course my lord of Flint.” Ser Andrew Locke says his tone sharp. “Why else would he have been sent out to bring more men to the cause? We cannot debate that, it is true but we must find out who it is that is leading the Targaryen forces before we act, otherwise we shall be finished.”

At that moment there is a knock on the door Wynafryd calls for whoever it is to come in and finds herself looking at her husband, he seems bedraggled and bloodied. “We ran into southerners on the way back from the outskirts from town. Ser Arys Oakheart leads the southern forces pillaging our lands my lady. I had it from one of the men we captured. We must needs act soon, Oldcastle has fallen.”

Wynafryd looks at Ser Andrew Locke and says. “You have your answer now my lord.”


	31. Unforgiven II

**King Brandon VII Mormont**

Being king and thoughts on being king were two completely different things, Brandon had found. Whilst as a child he had often thought about what it would be like to wear the crown of Winter and be able to do as he pleased, once his father had actually died and they had placed his crown atop his head, he had realised that it was not all fun and games, there was a lot more work that went into being king than any had ever actually thought would be possible. Brandon had been raised in how to play the games that the northern lords played, the intrigues and the ways in which you could run the north for fun and still maintain honour and duty. Still it was hard work, and his lords tested him to the full rope of his patience and powers, there was one thing after the other, matters of large and small importance that they brought before him and expected him to deal with no matter how tired or frustrated he felt inside he would have to deal with them and he would deal with them to the best of his ability. He knew that his father had preferred the more martial side of ruling, the fighting, the organising of the troops, but he had hated having to navigate through the mire of politics, leaving that more to Brandon’s grandfather and grandmother. However, Brandon did not have that luxury, his grandfather had died alongside his father during the last war with the Targaryens and as such Brandon’s uncle Jorah was more suited to organising troops than actually navigating politics, and so it was left to Brandon alone to make sure House Mormont remained atop the field of the north.

That they had the support of the two most powerful houses in the north in House Manderly and House Bolton helped Brandon sleep at night, for there was no longer the worry that something might go awry should he slip up and as such House Bolton in particular had a vested interest in making sure that House Mormont remained in power, for their rise would be vastly halted should Robb Stark and his southerners come to power. As it was the true test of Brandon’s reign had come a year ago now, when the Wildlings led by Tormund Giantsbane had finally crossed the wall. They had completely decimated the Night’s Watch destroying what forces they had and had swarmed across the wall and down into the lands south of the wall, raping and pillaging as they went. Lord Jon Umber had called his men together and had fought a group of these wildlings at Long Lake, only to lose most of his men and his own life as the wildlings continued their sweep down onto the lands south of the wall. The wildlings had been met by the Shadow Cats led by Brandon’s cousin Prince Jon Wull and though there had been fierce fighting at Algrad Hill Jon and his men had been decimated and as such the wildlings had advanced forward, with some taking boats and sailing towards Bear Island where Brandon’s cousin Rickard had managed to hold them off for long enough to allow his father to come to his aid.  Jorah Mormont had died on Bear Island bringing down a wildling known as the Weeper and with it ending some of the steam with which the wildlings had assembled.

The wildlings that had remained on the mainland had taken to increasing their frenetic activities, and as such by the time Brandon had finally managed to get his men all together and ready to march, much of the north was smoking in ruins, something that aggravated Brandon and had made him more determined than ever to see the wildlings dealt with in an appropriate manner. And so they had marched from Winterfell as summer was giving way to winter, and they had met the wildling host that numbered some 30,000 strong in the shadow of Brandon the Bad’s legendary torture chamber, in the wolf’s wood. And it was there that they showed the wildlings the true advantage of having more advanced weaponry, armour and having discipline. For whilst the wildlings went out into a full attack at the first sign of the northmen approaching them, Brandon and his lords held back their full strength for a while, letting the vanguard commanded by Brandon’s brother Torrhen take the bulk of the carnage that had come down from beyond the wall. Once the wildlings had exhausted themselves on the shield walls of Torrhen’s men, Brandon had led the charge and the wildlings had been slaughtered. Brandon and his men were the hammer, and the trees and branches of the forest were the anvil, the wildlings were slaughtered there and then, the Wolfswood was painted red with the blood of wildling and northerner respectively, but at the end of it all the northmen remained whilst the wildlings were either dead or captured.

With the battle done, the wildlings broken and destroyed, Brandon had debated what to do, how to make the wildlings see that they could no longer attack the north, not anymore. Eventually a solution had presented itself, the wildlings still looked towards Mance Rayder’s wife and daughter as their leaders as such, and Brandon had learnt that Tormund Giantsbane had used them as figureheads for his invasion, and so Brandon had decreed that his second son Torrhen was to wed Daella Steelsong and would be named Lord of the Slane, a piece of land that spread from the New Gift down to just bordering the lands that fell under Last Hearth’s command. That done the marriage happened and then news had come of a Targaryen invasion, Baelor Targaryen it seemed was determined to bring the north back into the fold and so the boy had launched a two pronged invasion on the southern part of the north. White Harbour and its lands were under attack from a member of the Kingsguard and other members of the royal family, whilst Moat Cailin was being bled dry. Brandon and his men were tired and were weary and yet they were ready to march back to war to defend the north, and so they had marched from the wood passed Winterfell towards the Barrowlands, where Brandon had called a war council. As such Lords Umber, Ryswell, Dustin, Karstark, Bolton, Cerwyn and Tallhart were all present as well Brandon’s son and heir Osrick. Brandon spoke first to break the silence. “We all know why we are here my lords. Baelor Targaryen believes that he can break us now that much of our strength has been used up defeating the wildlings. He is attacking the Moat and for all we know might hold it as we speak, as to White Harbour and its surrounding areas, our fleet was burnt at anchor by the royal fleet and so we are struggling there. My question to you is where do we go, south or south east, and do we hit them with all of our might or split the forces up.”

Lord Harrion Karstark spoke then his voice gruff. “It would make sense to keep our forces together Your Grace. We know that the southerners attacking Moat Cailin are greater in number than us, but with the Cassels holding onto the Moat and with the cranongmen fighting with everything they have the southerners will be bled dry. White Harbour might be wealthier in terms of treasure and such, but should we lose the moat our people will lose hope.”

Lord Ryswell voiced his agreement. “Aye we cannot afford to lose the Moat. White Harbour can be replenished at any other time, the Moat, the Moat is what the north is seen as, lose that and we might as well bend the knee to Baelor Targaryen. And that is something no honest Northman wants to happen. Moat Cailin must be defended with everything we have, and we must use all of our strength to see that happen.”

Lord Bolton had something different to say. “We are all tired and beaten Your Grace. We have faced the wildlings on several different fronts and broken them. But we have also experienced a shattering campaign; half the north is still smoking from where the wildlings attacked them. If you allow the biggest city that the north has to go up in smoke then it will not matter whether or not we hold the Moat, we shall lose our respect and dignity and then the people will not care who you are or what you have done there will be civil war.”

Some of the northern lords bristle at that and Brandon’s son Osrick speaks then. “Is that a threat Lord Domeric?”

Lord Bolton remains silent for a moment before calmly replying. “No my prince it is not. It is merely an observation. Lose White Harbour and we lose our supplies and our chance for help.”

Lord Umber snorts then and says. “It appears Lord Domeric has gotten soft in his old age. He has forgotten what it means to be a northerner. White Harbour will stand, Wynafryd Manderly will not let the city fall and those southerners know nothing of the city and its landscape for those who were there when Rhaegar Targaryen lived are dead. It is the Moat that we must defend with everything we have.”

Brandon was silent for a moment before he said. “Very well, I have heard all of your views on the matter. White Harbour must remain standing, and whilst I do not doubt my brother’s capability, sending extra aid to him will be something that will stand us in good stead. Lord Bolton, you shall lead 2,000 men from here to White Harbour. The rest shall march with as we assail the southerners.”

With that the decision is made and later that day as the sun is at its highest they break camp and march, one part of the army for White Harbour, and the other, the part under Brandon’s command marches for the southern part of the North and the Moat. When they arrive they are greeted by the sounds of a battle already in place, Brandon can see the blood and the bodies, and he can hear the screams. Old Artos Fenn finds them in the midst of the chaos and says one thing. “The dragon is here, they nearly have the Moat.” That knowledge spurs them all on and soon enough they are in the thick of it all. Brandon might not be as skilled a warrior as his father was, but he is still a damned sight better than most of the southerners who think to face him. He cuts them down like they are nothing more than sacks of meat, and soon enough Ice is covered in red, covered in the blood of many a foe. He cuts down two knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks falling to the ground covered with their blood.

He swings his sword, left, right and centre, cutting a bloody path towards Baelor Targaryen. The youth when he finds him, is dressed in black as night armour with a dragon’s helm atop his head. And with the cockiness of youth, spurs his horse forward and they engage in a clash of swords. Steel meets steel, sparks fly and the battle rages on, swinging his sword, pushing forwards the young king is good, better than Brandon expected but he lacks patience, and Brandon means to use that to his advantage. He pushes forward and swings his sword, hacking and cutting, ducking and dodging, the youth continues his own barrage of attacks and soon enough they are both bloody and their armour is dented is many different places, and yet still they fight on. Eventually the young king’s impatience gets the better of him and with a swing, a parry and then a thrust, Brandon buries Ice inside Baelor Targaryen’s chest. With his death and the death of most of the king’s commanders, the southerners led by Lord Tommem Lannister retreats back behind the neck with their tails behind their legs. On the twelfth day of the ninth month of the 319th year after Aegon’s Landing, Baelor Targaryen dies and with him, any hope of retaking the north, though his brother keeps fighting unaware of his brother’s death.


	32. The Last Fight

**Prince Aemon Targaryen**

Aemon Targaryen the second born son of King Rhaegar Targaryen and the only child of Lady Lyanna Stark, had grown up with a shadow hanging over his head. The shadow of his conception and what it had done to both his mother and father’s families, it had been something that had shaped his earliest interactions, where as a child he had been raised by his grandmother Queen Dowager Rhaella and not by his father or stepmother, he had met his stepmother some twelve times during the course of his life before she had eventually died of a cold, she had been a good kind woman who had made the best of a difficult circumstance. As to his father, Aemon had only ever met him once, and that was for his sister Rhaenys wedding, he had spoken no more than three words to his father during the course of their meeting and afterwards he had not bothered to go and find the man who had for all intents and purposes abandoned him. He felt little better with regards to his older brother King Aegon, his more outgoing, and smart brother, who had held the kingdoms attention with his intellect and prowess, Aemon had been more bookish and shy compared to his elder brother and growing up on Dragonstone had meant that he never truly developed that sibling bond that he had with Rhaenys. Rhaenys his elder sister, who he loved with all his heart, she was the one person other than his grandmother who he had ever felt cared about him, she was there for him through thick and thin, she made the effort to get to know him and whenever she visited Dragonstone they would always do things, fun things. When she had wed Willas Tyrell, he had been very sad for he had thought their friendship would end, but she had shown just how good a sister she was when she continued to visit him and even invited him to Highgarden. As to his aunt and uncle, he cared for them deeply and he did miss them a lot, but there was not the same level as it was with Rhaenys yet he still did miss them.

His father had given him the princedom of Dragonstone when he had turned sixteen, declaring that it was now necessary for Aegon to rule from King’s Landing, and that all future heirs of the Iron Throne learn their trade from the centre of power. Aemon did not mind for it meant that he no longer had to worry about being summoned to King’s Landing for something or the other. Aegon had of course soon exercised his right as king to arrange a match for Aemon, and that was how at the age of seventeen he had wed Daenaera Velaryon, the cousin of Lord Monford Velaryon. Daenaera had been a great beauty in their youth and Aemon had often worried about having to fend of many men to defend her honour, but as it was she stayed true to him and in time they became fond of one another and became great friends and confidants, and she was the only other person apart from Rhaenys who knew how to open him up and make him smile and for that he thought he loved her. He and Daenaera had had four children during the course of their marriage, Aemon’s eldest son and heir Daemon was a solid lad of nineteen who knew how to swing a sword and think with his head, their second son Baelon was much more wild and wilful and Aemon knew there would be problems later on down the line, and then there were their two daughters Daella and Saera both of whom were perfect ladies and knew how to get what they wanted. A family Aemon loved well and one he had done his hardest to protect.

Of course with the near constant wars that his family constantly seemed to have to wage, it was very difficult to spend as much quality time with them as he would have liked. Of course he did his duty and he took it very seriously, after all his father, brother and nephew were all too busy worrying about reclaiming lost glories of their family to ever worry about protecting the family and so it had fallen to Aemon to take that role on. This latest war was just one more example of it all, they had done well, the south eastern north had been captured and they had weakened the northern lords hold over many of their holdings, and yet once more the northerners had come out on top. Aemon’s nephew King Baelor had been slain by King Brandon Mormont, and so had two of his Kingsguard, that in it had forced Robb Stark the Lord of Riverrun to order a retreat back behind the neck and so when news had reached them as they were camped on the outskirts of White Harbour a council had been convened and Prince Jaehaerys who was now the king, had discussed the possible options open to them, before agreeing that a peace was in order, and so word had been sent southwards, and now they were all gathered in White Harbour for the agreeing of terms and the peace treaty that would end the wars between their two kingdoms.

The doors opened and in walked the two kings, Brandon Mormont big as his father had been and more imposing, Jaehaerys slim, and sleek with an air of grace that his brother had lacked. They moved to a table where two pieces of paper were laid out, waiting to be read and signed. Aemon as part northerner and a more neutral party stood forward once the two kings had gotten to the table and spoke his voice loud and strong. “My Kings, lords and ladies. We are gathered here in White Harbour, an ancient city raised by the Starks and the Manderlys in days of old, to recognise the formal parting of the two kingdoms. The kingdom of the North ruled by the Mormonts of Winterfell, and the kingdom of the south ruled by the Targaryens of King’s Landing. King Brandon Mormont and King Jaehaerys Targaryen are here today to agree to the terms laid out before them in these two documents and to sign them and thus end the hostilities between the two kingdoms.” He paused to catch his breath and then said. “The terms are as follows, in recognition of the north’s independence, the Iron Throne does hereby declare that it will no longer stake a claim to any lands north of the neck, they are hereby under the protection and claim of the Winter Throne and whoever does sit it in Winterfell. The Iron Throne does promise to uphold this agreement so long as the King or Queen of Winter does so agree by the sight of the gods both old and new that they will not seek to move any aggressive movement be it armies or weapons past the border of the neck and into the south with antagonistic purposes. The Iron Throne also lays claim to both those kingdoms south of the neck as well as the Iron Islands, a deal that will be sealed with a marriage between Princess Daella of Dragonstone and Harlon Greyjoy the Lord of Pyke. In order to fully consolidate the peace, it has been agreed that King Jaehaerys Targaryen’s sister Princess Visenya shall wed Prince Osrick Stark and that Saera Mormont shall wed the king himself.” There was some murmuring once Aemon stopped talking but then it stopped when he spoke once more. “Does either party have any objection to the terms stated in the peace treaty?”

Both men shook their heads and Aemon then said. “In that case let those present in this hall today and in sight of the High Septon and the Old Gods, that peace has been agreed and now may be confirmed with signatures.” Both men then signed the document and shook hands and for the first time in years Aemon hoped for lasting peace.


	33. So Far Away

**Maester’s Summary**

On the fourth day of the twelfth month of the 319th year King Brandon VII Mormont and King Jaehaerys III Targaryen signed a peace treaty that ended nearly four decades of war and tension between their two kingdoms. Both men would be remembered as peace bringers and those who put their own personal differences so as to make sure that the peace and prosperity that the kingdoms had been lacking since Robert’s Rebellion or the War of the Usurper could be attained and that the people could know a life without fear of death coming instantly.

Of the two kings, Jaehaerys III Targaryen would be remembered the most fondly, the boy for that was what he was coming to the throne at age of seventeen would reign until 350 A.L., and in that time he worked on making sure that the kingdom he ruled over was peaceful and prosperous, he did that through ensuring that many trade agreements were set up between the different kingdoms under his control and that there were trade deals with both the north and the free cities. King Jaehaerys marriage to Saera Mormont was a happy one, both man and wife took the time to get to know one another and used their respective skills to make the other’s life easier, and as such when it came to producing heirs, they seemed to be most prolific, as just like his namesake the first Jaehaerys, this Jaehaerys had nine children. Aemon, Baelon, Daella, Sarella, Viserys, Daenaerys, Aegon, Jaehaeron and Jaehara. All of whom would grow up to continue their father’s good work.

Of King Brandon VII Mormont, little else was heard of after the signing of the peace treaty, the man worked hard at repairing the north from the damages that had been inflicted on it by the various wars that had been fought and made sure that the north prospered during this time of peace by also signing various trade agreements with the south and the free cities. Brandon Mormont ruled until the 330th year after Aegon’s Landing where he died of a fever, his son King Osrick Mormont continued his hard work and made sure that the north continued to prosper and live in peace for the remainder of his own reign which lasted well into the early days of the next century.

Of Robb Stark and the exiled Starks, they accepted their fate and retired to Riverrun where Robb Stark ruled well and did his part to make sure that all remained  well and peaceful within the Riverlands. Though there were some feelings of a missed opportunity by Robb Stark and his wife, ultimately the man accepted his fate and when he died, there was none of the bated breath to see what his son Hoster Stark would do, as the man simply kept his head down and made to work on furthering his father’s work of strengthening the riverlands.

Westeros had entered a time of peace and plenty, and it is here that our story ends.


End file.
